


The Incident

by GeorgeOaks



Series: Wings Cannot Be Chained [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Dark, Dark Magic, Draco Malfoy Has Issues, Empathy, Good Draco Malfoy, M/M, Ravenclaw Draco Malfoy, Slow Burn, incident, magical influence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2017-11-10
Packaged: 2019-01-31 05:46:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 68,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12675621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeorgeOaks/pseuds/GeorgeOaks
Summary: As a young boy, Draco Malfoy had an Incident with his father's collection of Dark Magic that irrevocably changed him and altered his magic, much to his father's disapproval. He found answers and sanctuary at Hogwarts, as well as friendship and acceptance. It was just unfortunate that a certain boy with glasses was determined to get to the truth about a suspected Stone and Draco's suspicious godfather.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate universe! I classified this as dark since Draco is only a young boy when he is met with such Darkness that not even most adults will face in their lifetime. It might be a bit dramatic, but I hope you forgive it.
> 
> This is book one.
> 
> Any and all feedback is welcomed and wanted - just please be kind.

Young Draco sighed dramatically, again, and tried to loosen the knot in his tie, only to be stopped by his mother’s stern glance. He made a small face at her to let her know he was displeased and went back to practicing the impassive/bored expression his father insisted upheld the dignity of the name Malfoy.

If he didn’t know better, which at that time he didn’t know better, his parents planned this dinner party with the Notts and Parkinsons just to taunt Draco. He was eight now, for crying out loud! His father had already started teaching him some magic and explaining the sheer power of the Dark. His rightful place was in his father’s secret vault in Father’s study with Mr. Nott and Mr. Parkinson, instead of out in the guest sitting room as the women sipped adult drinks and gossiped. (Except for Pansy, of course. She was drinking tea and listening to the adult women avidly.)

Draco wasn’t _allowed_ in the vault. Usually, he was just not allowed unless his father was with him, but tonight he was being punished, particularly by the fact that he should be in there – _like Theo was!_ \- with the men, flaunted in his face!

Because at this time, his starter broom was locked in the vault. His mother was furious that he did it again, and his father was disappointed in his lack of originality. But Draco figured, if it wasn’t broken, why fix it? His method of getting back at his governesses, nannies, and house elves had worked since he first flew, and he saw no reason to change now. The method, of course, was to take a small item of importance and hide it, up high, where it would be near impossible to find.

Besides, Mrs. Stupid-face deserved it. Usually, Mother just had a house elf retrieve the stolen item, but she was holding firm that he wasn’t going to get his broom back unless the first thing he did with it was to use it to get Mrs. Stupid-face’s reading glasses back. Draco held firm that he wasn’t going to give them back unless Mrs. Stupid-face allowed him to move on to English history. He didn’t care how important that gross Rome was, he was _not_ going to waste his time studying about an entire civilization that was founded by _werewolves_.

He pouted at first, but now he had a plan. Usually, when his father brought his guests into his study and vault, he always went back to the vault later to make sure one of his guests didn’t do anything. Which meant he had a window between when the gentlemen came back and when the guests left to sneak in there and get his broom!

He just needed a good bit of gossip to get his mother distracted.

Thankfully, no sooner had the men and Theo come back did that happened.

“… and you won’t believe. This woman he had been showing off and yapping about like a school-boy Hufflepuff was a _Mudblood_.”

His mother gasped and straightened up. Scandal with a Mudblood! Perfect. Mrs. Parkinson had the adults’ and Pansy’s undivided attention, and Draco used the excuse of Theo throwing him smug smirks to act put-out and leave the room.

His father’s study was on the other side of the wing, so he didn’t have to go that far. His room was much further away, however. He needed to get the broom quickly and make sure his mother found him in his bedroom.

“ _Est aperire tutum,_ ” he spoke the password (a specific password from his father’s usual one, in case one of his guests tried to sneak back into the vault before they left).

The bookcase Draco was facing faded away and opened into a large room full of Dark artifacts, literature, potions, and spells. The candles were still lit, and Draco _had_ to take a moment to admire it all. He walked along the walls, hand barely touching the shelves.

A whisper made him pause.

Frowning, he tried to follow the sound. It was a little hissy and hoarse at the same time. He followed it deeper into the vault to a dark corner.

“ _The little one…”_ the voice hissed.

“I’m not little,” Draco corrected petulantly. “I’m a big boy.”

He heard a small snigger. _“So innocent…”_

“I am _not_ innocent!”

“ _Oh? Do tell…”_

“Father is teaching me all kinds of Dark Arts. I’m not innocent. I’m going to be a great wizard!”

“ _Are you sure, little one?”_

Draco huffed, finally coming to stand in front of a box, slightly opened, that he recognized. It was usually closed, the runes painted on it protecting what was inside. Father had said the same runes help give it extra power, which was why it was important to keep it shut. He lifted the lid a little more and peeked inside.

It was a small, old, leather book.

“Like you know anything,” he sneered. “You’re just smelly, old paper.”

“ _Oh, I know plenty, my ambitious friend. You want to be a powerful Dark wizard?”_

“I _am_ a powerful Dark wizard,” Draco argued, crossing his arms.

“ _Then surely you, powerful Dark wizard, can handle what my smelly, old paper can show you…_ ”

Hissy whispers intensified was the last thing he heard before everything within the vault began to come alive.

He lost all sense of time, space, or reality, and all he knew were decades of Dark Magic, visions of torture, murder, slaughter, and laughter. Meanwhile, his body twisted. It felt like his limbs were being broken, that his skin was being pulled off, that his insides were cooking. Dark ran through his veins, and the Dark power redirected onto itself inside him.

The last thing he knew was high pitch, cold laughter and a woman screaming his name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This AU's young Draco](https://wcbc.tumblr.com/post/168005613088/kid-pics-of-tom-felton-shamelessly-taken-from)


	2. Leaps of Faith are Easier with Wings

Draco was sitting in the breakfast nook. _The Lord of the Rings_ was opened on his lap as he thoughtfully chewed on his bacon and waited for his parents. No one knew of the muggle books he read. He found a love for them when he was still in St. Mungo’s after… the Incident. A muggle-born was in his ward, having suffered from a bout of her own accidental magic. It took her parents months to find out what she was and how to get the proper care she needed. She spent most of the time asleep, her mother reading to her.

Now, only Dobby knew. Dobby brought them to him, enchanting the covers to either move like a wizard book or made them blank so no one could tell one way or the other. He also watched out for Draco, banishing the book before his parents could enter the room. Draco could always find the book under his pillow, a new handmade bookmark marking his place. (Draco kept a box of all the bookmarks – at least, the ones that didn’t expire, such as the flatten apple from last week.)

This morning, of course, his parents had to come in right as Gandalf was lifting his staff and declaring, “YOU SHALL NOT PASS!”

The book disappeared from his lap with a small _crack_ one second before his parents entered, fully dressed and looking annoyed with each other.

They fought a lot since the Incident.

“Are you ready, Draco?” his mother asked.

Draco nodded, sighing.

Ever since his dreaded Hogwarts letter came, Draco had found excuse after excuse not to go to Diagon Alley. Finally, Father had had enough and made sure to clear his schedule so that the _three_ of them could go.

There was no point arguing.

The Incident had many side effects, and one of them was Draco’s… adamant un-enthusiasm for magic.

At first, it scared him. If he was honest, it still did. His father’s idea to force Draco to overcome that fear was to master it. If Draco wasn’t going to work on the Dark Arts, then he was going to make sure Draco did _something_ magical, laws be damned. As a result, Draco had already mastered all of the First Year’s curriculum, or so Draco had overheard his godfather chastise Father about. 

His mother’s idea of helping Draco overcome his fear was the understand magic. As such, Draco had learned about how magic worked, in the body and out. That had actually increased his fear, thus began his correspondence with one of his Healers, Ash. Ash also had his muggle medical license and was able to explain a lot of things about sciences and the human body, particularly the wizard body.

Neither of his parents knew of this, of course, but the knowledge Draco learned from Ash had helped the most.

As they entered Diagon, another side effect of the Incident hit him with full force.

The Incident had, more or else, burnt away at some of Draco’s magical nerves, turning him into a bit of an Empath.

Okay, turning him into a lot of an Empath. A powerful Empath. One that could be a great asset and weapon, according to his father. However, Father was immensely disappointed with how Draco responded to it (insisting to comfort someone who was upset, etc.), so therefore, his ability was a weakness.

Places like Diagon with so many people used to overwhelm Draco, and it took over a year for his godfather to secretly teach him, as Severus had said, “another necessity you are far too young to have to learn.” Occlumency helped a lot, and Draco was getting very good at it, despite only really having learned a small amount of it. Severus made it clear it was, well, child Occlumency, for lack of a better term.

He threw up his mental shields and relaxed a little at the relief on his singed magical nerves.

His mother tossed him a quick glance, one with a small mischievous glint to it that told Draco what she was about to do was basically manipulate his father for him, and to play along.

“Lucius, dear, how about you pick up Draco’s books?”

“He is perfectly capable of doing that himself.”

“Yes, but, he already has his First Year books, as you know,” she reasoned. “Since you’ve been in charge of his education so far, wouldn’t you be best suited to find him books that could challenge him?”

Lucius straightened a little with pride. Draco was indeed very advanced for his age, and Lucius never passed up a moment to brag about it.

“Of course.”

“Draco, dear,” his mother continued. “I’m afraid the measurements I sent to Madam Malkin’s were last years. You’ve grown so much, I’m afraid you’ll have to be fitted. That might take a while. Might as well get it over with.”

“Okay,” Draco narrowed his eyes. “What about you?”

“I’ll go look at wands, shall I?” she suggested, the glint back in her eye.

Draco lowered his shields just enough to confirm his suspicions. His mother was giving off waves of understanding, protectiveness, and a bit of amusement. He smiled at her and nodded. No doubt she was going to head off Ollivander, warn him of Draco’s… caution.

“Very well,” his father decided and strolled off down the street. His mother dropped him off at Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions with a quick kiss on top of his head.

“Hogwarts?” a woman asked as he stepped inside.

“Yes. Name’s Malfoy.”

“Ah,” the witch smiled. “Yes, we got an owl from your mother yesterday informing us you’ll have to be entirely refitted from your measurements.”

Draco nodded and was led into a room where two other children stood on stools. One was a boy whose skin almost matched his dark robes and looked bored beyond belief, and between him and Draco was a girl with wild, bushy hair. She was reading what Draco recognized as _Hogwarts, A History_ and didn’t seem to be paying attention to her surroundings at all.

Draco didn’t need Empathy to relate to that habit whatsoever.

“My, my,” the witch frowned, looking over the robes she just put over him. “Your mother was way off on every account. I’m afraid this might take a while, dear. Just relax, I’ll fix you right up.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” he said.

The girl was finished first, which was a shame. He was enjoying watching her read. She mustn’t have been raised in the wizardry world if she was reading that book, and it was both saddening but nostalgic for him to watch someone excited over magic.

The boy left not long after, unfortunately taking with him any other distractions besides the witch working her own magic over him, which he could feel. His shields could never hold against being able to _feel_ magic with great potency. Another wondrous side effect.

By the time the witch was finished adjusting his collar, shoulders, and arms, he heard the door open and Malkin addressing someone sounding around his age. Sure enough, a boy with messy, dark hair and very unfortunate, broken glasses was placed on the stool next to him.

What caught Draco’s attention most was that the boy didn’t have the bouncing, overflowing excitement about him as others their age that time of year. Carefully peeking through his shields, Draco felt nerves, confusion, and fear rolling off the boy with equal parts anticipation and excitement. They were so strong; any other wizard’s magic would probably be muted by the emotions. This boy, however, was going to be powerful. Draco could sense his magic just as much as his emotions.

“Hogwarts too?” Draco asked.

The boy looked over at him and nodded.

“Nervous?”

He nodded again, his lips flicking into a shy smile.

“Me too,” Draco admitted, looking away. Nervous wasn’t enough to even begin to explain how he felt. He was terrified of all the magical energy that was going to be there. Terrified of being singled out because he already knew the material. Terrified of being told how powerful he must be. Even more so, he was terrified of what was going to be his home. He had seen pictures of his parents in the Slytherin common rooms. It was dark, green, and underwater. Almost all the families in the House were associated with the Dark Arts in some way. He felt sick just thinking about it.

“Know what House you’ll be in?” Draco asked, slightly aware his inner thoughts lowered his shields a little more. He moved them back up, but not in time to miss the confusion that grew around the boy.

“House?” the boy frowned.

Ah, thought Draco. Another muggle-born. Gladly stepping into what Severus fondly called his ‘lecture-mode,' Draco answered, “At Hogwarts, there are four Houses each student is sorted into. The Houses will be like your family. You’ll eat, sleep, and have classes with your House.” He paused to let the boy wrap his mind around that before continuing.

“Furthermore, there are House points. Accomplishments will earn you House points, rule-breaking will lose you House points. The House at the end of the year with the most points will receive what is called the House Cup. It’s traditional and prestigious. The Great Hall, where we will have our meals and feasts, is decorated with the House colors of last year’s winner all year long, you see. Then, of course, there are House Quidditch teams.”

He paused again to smile at the boy, reassuring him that he was about to explain that as well, as another wave of confusion came from him. The small frown the boy was getting again disappeared instantly as he listened attentively. “Quidditch is a wizard sport. It’s rather fascinating and can be a lot of fun. Each House has their own team, and they compete all year for the Quidditch Cup that will be awarded towards the end of the year. Whichever House wins the Quidditch Cup receives several House points, as well. If you win the Quidditch Cup, you can pretty much guarantee your House the House Cup.”

“Oh,” the boy said, eyes shining.

“That was an excellent description,” Malkin praised, apparently amused. He tended to get that a lot from adults. He didn’t mind it. He much preferred it to the disappointment and disapproval he often got from his father, and the sadness and worry he got from his mother.

Draco smiled just a little, looking back at the boy. “Don’t worry about Quidditch, though. First Years, which, I assume you are?” The boy nodded. “We aren’t allowed a broom.”

The boy nodded, frowning again. “Yeah, the letter said. Do you know why that is?”

Draco shrugged. “I suppose it’s because there will be several First Years who were raised outside the wizardry world and don’t know how to fly. We’ll receive lessons, don’t worry.”

“Thank you,” the boy smiled.

Draco opened his mouth to continue the Houses explanation and how they came to be when a rather large man outside the window got his attention. The boy turned as the man knocked. He was holding two ice cream cones and gestured toward the boy with them as to why he couldn’t come in.

“That’s Hagrid,” the boy explained, smiling. Draco's shields were still a lowered a little, and he could feel the boy’s relief. Whether because of the man or not, Draco didn’t know. “He’s the gamekeeper at Hogwarts.”

Draco nodded and regarded the man again, who was smiling in return to the Draco’s shy wave. He felt it only polite since Draco was obviously staring. Though the large man’s face was mostly just hair, his eyes shone brightly. “He looks very kind.”

“He is,” the boy smiled again. “He brought me my Hogwarts letter last night. He even made me a birthday cake!”

“It’s your birthday?” Draco asked, wanting to confirm. Though, something else also peaked his curiosity. Muggle-borns were often given their letter with a staff member from Hogwarts to explain things, but surely, that wouldn’t lead to immediately shopping? Draco thought such news would take a few days to digest.

However, the boy just nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah. I’m eleven.”

“Happy birthday,” he said kindly. “I turned eleven last month.”

“That’s you done, dear,” Malkin interrupted. “And a very happy birthday to you both.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” the boy smiled, slipping the robes off.

“Oh,” Draco had a thought. “One more thing. Your robes?”

The boy looked down at them.

“Your tie and things? They’re enchanted to turn into your House colors after you’re sorted.”

The boy’s eyes went wide, turning to Malkin.

“Charmed them myself,” she smiled down at him.

“Brilliant!”

“See you at Hogwarts,” Draco said as a way of goodbye.

“Yeah,” the boy replied, obviously more excited than nervous now. “Thanks, for… you know.”

“When you get your books, you can ask a clerk for books about the wizardry world.” Thinking of the girl he saw earlier, he added, “ _Hogwarts, A History_ is a good one. It’ll tell you all about the Houses.”

“Really?” the boy asked. “Brilliant! Thank you!”

Draco simply nodded, turning to look down at the witch finishing up around his ankles as the boy left.

“That was kind of you,” the witch said softly. “You said you were a Malfoy, yes?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She looked up at him, eyes just as soft as her voice. “You’re very sweet. Don’t lose that at Hogwarts.”

Draco gulped. All he could do was nod and look away, images of Slytherin common room flickering through his mind again. It wasn’t like there were skulls there or anything, it was just… the idea of being that far underneath the castle. All the magic of the castle pressing down on him…

His mother and father were waiting outside once he was finished. Much to his father’s annoyance, Mother suggested getting all his other supplies before stopping for his wand. They had to pull Draco away from the potion ingredients, Draco making a mental list of question for his godfather. Perhaps encouraged by Draco showing such interest in magical things, Father tried to get him as equally excited about the newest line of brooms. He even offered to buy one for him, reminding him he knew several ways to smuggle it in. To stop such an action, Draco forced excitement and relied on his mother to strictly forbid breaking the rules.

As they were finishing up at Scribbulus Writing Instruments, the boy and the big man came in. Draco suddenly had an idea.

Since the Incident, the only thing that brought Draco a sense of peace and, if he was honest, cleanliness, was small, random acts of kindness. His father didn’t understand or approve, but his mother did. Sometimes, she greatly disapproved of how or to whom, but she would never deny him a sense of peace.

Giving his mother his own glinted look to signal to distract Father, he quietly asked for some galleons, which she snuck into his hand.

“Oh, hun, look at this!” his mother pulled his father away.

Looking around the store quickly, Draco thought of a fun but useful item he could give the boy, particularly to help keep the boy excited about the wizardry community rather than the negative emotions he sensed from him before. A multicolor miniature peacock quill caught his eye. Making sure Father was properly distracted, Draco bought it, hurriedly encouraged the clerk to more quickly bag the box, and quietly made his way to the boy who was in the corner of the shop, looking over parchment and seemingly enthralled with the rolls.

“Happy birthday,” Draco said, handing out the bag.

The boy snapped his head up in surprise, then frowned as he looked at the bag. “What?”

Draco shook the bag a little and pushed it into the boy’s hands. “Happy birthday. Open it.”

Obviously awed but confused, the boy pulled out the box and peeked inside.

“It’s a self-inking, multicolor quill. Just think of the color you want it to be, and the ink will be that color,” Draco announced.

“Wow…”

“Tha’s kind of yeh,” the big man said, coming to stand beside the boy. He was frowning at Draco, eyes drifting over to his parents.

“I don’t understand,” the boy said, looking back at Draco with wide, confused eyes.

Draco shrugged, unable to repress a grin. He loved giving – it gave him such a giddy feeling. “Welcome to the wizardry world. I have to get back before they notice. Bye!”

With that, he waved awkwardly, turned, and jogged his way back to his parents just in time to sense his father getting frustrated, though there was a strong fondness to it.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

“Just your mother’s habit of getting overly obsessed with random items at stores. Come now, Draco. It’s time,” he added sternly.

Draco gulped again. It was time for his wand.

His mother led the way, hand on his shoulder, talking away at the ‘fascinating’ refilling ink bottles. The humor he could feel through her touch helped distract him. Mother’s ‘habit of getting overly obsessed with random items at stores’ only started as a way to distract Father. His father wasn’t the wiser and did genuinely try to please his wife. They both knew that after his parents’ next fight, she was going to be gifted with as many refilling ink bottles her study could hold.

Finally, they arrived. Father elected to stand outside Ollivander’s wand shop, no doubt in the interest of not seeing his only son and heir act like a ‘coward' in the face of mere wands. (Or, because his mother already demanded it. Really, it was 50/50.)

Draco waited until the door shut, blocking out his father before he took a deep, calming breath.

“Here we are,” his mother said gently, steering him further in.

“Little Draco,” a very old man said. He was sitting behind a desk in the corner and smiling at them. Standing, the man came over slowly and considered him. Draco knew his mother had talked to him, so he tried not to be too worried. The idea of having a wand was unsettling at best for Draco, but there was no getting around it. Hopefully, he would be in good hands with this man, Mr. Ollivander.

Ollivander crouched down in front of him, his bones cracking with the effort. “Draco, Draco. How nice to meet you. I see the rumors are true.”

“Rumors, sir?” he asked.

“Your eyes. Mmm, yes, much, much older than they should be. You have seen things, Draco. Awful things.”

His mother cleared her throat behind him, and Draco stood awkwardly, now avoiding eye contact with the man. He should have known, been prepared. Every new person he met usually commented on his eyes. The Incident lightened them considerably to an unusually bright, polished silver, but in many ways, it darkened them. Shaded them. He often overheard his godfather comment that his eyes were ‘of those who have been through war,’ which was entirely unfitting on someone so young.

Now that he thought about it, his father and godfather fought a lot after the Incident as well.

“Draco,” the old man said again, much gentler. Draco looked back up. “Do you know what makes wands so incredible?”

Draco had studied wands, of course, but he had a sense Ollivander was doing one of those adult-teaching moment things, so he shook his head.

“The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco frowned. He never read about that.

“Yes,” Ollivander mused, studying Draco’s eyes again. “I explained that to another boy today, as it turns out. It was very curious, the wand that chose him. I’ll be very curious to see which wand chooses you.”

“Chooses, sir? How? Why?”

“Yes, yes… You see, a wand is a wizard’s other half. It will be the only thing on the planet that will know your specific magic – _truly_ know it. It will encourage your magic – “ Draco winced – “and _protect_ it. As well as you. If for whatever reason you lose your wand, another will choose you to take its place.”

“My wand will protect me?” he asked.

“Oh yes, indeed. You see, the wand doesn’t choose the _magic_ it wishes to partner with, Mr. Malfoy. It chooses the _wizard_.”

Draco could feel his shoulders relax some. He looked over to his mother, who was smiling. “He’s right, Draco.”

Deciding to put away his anxiety and trust them, Draco nodded to Ollivander.

Ollivander clapped his hands and stood, with more alarming audible crackling of bones that didn’t seem to faze the old man at all. He watched as the man disappeared into the back of the store. He was gone for several minutes before he returned with a long, very dusty box. In fact, Draco didn’t think he had ever seen something that seemed to have actually changed colors due to prolonged dust.

“I bet, I bet,” Ollivander whispered, opening the box and presenting the wand to Draco. He was far too excited for Draco’s liking.

The wand was a good size, Draco thought. It was a rich wood, a lighter color, and straight with a few crooks and no knots.

He hovered his hand over it before deciding to brush his fingers lightly against it first. He felt himself relax further still. He could sense the magic in the wand, but unlike the magic he had sensed in other wands, this was the first magic he felt that was simply… calm. Still. Eased.

He slowly wrapped his fingers around it and lifted it. The stillness radiated up his arm, filled out across his chest, and made a very comfortable cove in what felt like the core of his being. He flicked the wand - a very, very small movement, and a bright light burst forth from the tip.

“Yes!” Ollivander exclaimed, making Draco jump. He brought the wand protectively to his chest.

“On your first guest, Ollivander. I see you haven’t lost your touch,” his mother commented.

Ollivander ignored her and focused his full attention on Draco. “11 inches. Applewood. Thestral tail hair. It is rumored that Thestral tail hair was used to craft a legendary wand. Fictional, no doubt, but many centuries ago, one wandmaker decided to experiment. Thestral tail hair is powerful, oh… so powerful.” Draco could feel himself pale, and Ollivander seemed to notice. He cleared his throat. “ _However,_ it is encompassed in Applewood.”

“Applewood?” Draco breathed, trying not to be terrified of the wand he was still cradling.

“Applewood,” Ollivander repeated. “Powerful as well, sure. Rare. Applewood pairs itself to those with high aims and ideals. It is the only wandwood that cannot mix with Dark Magic.”

Draco blinked. Then he released a giant breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “What?”

“Yes. Dark Magic and Applewood are like water and oil, Mr. Malfoy. It can cast some Dark spells, small ones, or ones cast only with the purest and best of intentions to the most moral ends. However, the only way Applewood can cast proper Dark Magic is to corrupt it, and to corrupt Applewood would be rendering it useless after one spell.”

Silence fell around them as Draco hugged the wand closer to him, soaking in this information, and Ollivander studied him with a clear academic hunger.

“Centuries ago?” his mother asked eventually.

“Yes,” Ollivander smiled at her. “The wandmaker was only successful three times. This,” he gestured to Draco’s wand, “is his last.”

Draco looked down at it and smiled.

It physically cannot do Dark Magic. It picked him, _him_ , who had to mentally, physically, and emotionally (not to mention magically) live through decades of Dark within a span of unknown minutes. He thought for sure he was corrupted himself. But… this wand…

_His wand._

“This means I’m not Dark?” he asked in a small voice even to his own ears, eyes not leaving his wand.

“No, no, Mr. Draco,” Ollivander answered gently. “It means you are _Light_.” He stepped closer, the movement forcing Draco to look up at him. “Light _born_ from Dark.”

Draco felt incredible relief flood through him, causing his wand to start glowing again. He jumped in surprise but didn't drop it.

Ollivander and his mother laughed, his mother sounding just as relieved as he felt. Belatedly, he realized his shields were down, but thankfully, he was okay. He threw them back up as Ollivander spoke, “Be careful, Mr. Draco.” Ollivander smiled at him again, eyes bright with interest and joy. “Your wand will be extremely sensitive to you. After all... it has been waiting seven hundred years for you.”

Draco couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. He let himself admire and familiarize himself with _his wand_ as his mother paid. She and Ollivander had a hushed conversation, one that he could tell she was manipulating. He knew she was making sure no one outside of the three of them would ever learn that his wand could not do Dark Magic, but it didn’t matter to him who knew. His wand, the one that had been waiting for him, that picked him, would be his safeguard. A real, physical, in-your-face reason as to why he wouldn't study the Dark Arts.

He suddenly gasped loudly when he felt something poke magically at his core as they were leaving.

“Ah, yes,” Ollivander said, leading them out. “You will also be sensitive to your wand. They are alive, in a way. I suggest you form a bond with it, more so than what any other wizard does. You will have a very strange relationship with your wand, Draco. It is as wise as you, clearly.” He spared a moment to look at his eyes again, and Draco tried his best not to look away. Finally, “I don’t think anyone but you will ever fully understand your bond, but don't let that discourage you. Don't be afraid."

“Yes, sir,” Draco answered and was surprised to learn he wasn't afraid. Nothing that felt as peaceful as this wand's magic could be bad. Maybe, just maybe, he could learn to love magic again.

*~*~*~*

It was definitely an unspoken agreement between his mother and himself as they stepped over the threshold of Ollivander’s to never mention what they learned to his father. His father, of course, immediately demanded to see the wand, to which Draco responded by tightening his hold.

His mother had laughed, easy as always, and explained Draco wouldn’t be passing over his wand anytime soon. “Look at our son, dear. So attached already, we couldn’t even box it.”

That explanation was satisfactory for Father, and his mother easily told him that Draco’s wand was 11 inches, Aspen, with unicorn hair. Father, impressed, spent the rest of the day explaining the good uses his wand was made for.

Draco ignored him mostly, only listening enough to be able to repeat important bits later if necessary. Instead, he subtly held his wand.

His wand radiated happiness. Completeness. Peace. His raw magical nerves could feel it exploring Draco all day; it explored his magic, his mind, his body, the things he ate, the things that exited his body (which made a sneeze intense, let him tell you), and it tried to explore his memories. However, before he could even react, it sensed his fear of having it see such, for lack of better term, Incidental things, and it backed away.

He was sure it saw, anyway, in his dreams, as he slept with his wand in his hand every night. Over a week after he got it, he awoke one morning with acceptance, forgiveness, understanding, and sympathy radiating from it.

He told his mother as soon as he could, and she smiled with bright eyes, oozing relief and happiness at him.

That night before bed, she had a gift for him. It was an inner-forearm sheath for a wand she had specially made for him. It was specifically designed so that, while sheathed, every inch of his wand touched his skin, which was a little uncomfortable due to his forearm being not quite 11 inches, but he was lanky enough that in a few months, that wouldn’t matter. A flick of the wrist with mental intention to dislodge the wand was all it took to drop his wand into his hand, as well as re-sheathed it. It was soft leather, black, and while inside it, his wand would touch nothing but it and his skin (the leather spelled by Ollivander to act as a conductor of sorts so the connection would be just Draco and his wand), which, according to Ollivander, would encourage their bond and make them both stronger. By itself, it simply looked like a full forearm warp with seams that fussed together once he put it on. He knew he probably would have been anxious at seeing his right forearm covered completely in black leather, but the peace from his wand only made the sight comforting and not like he was dressing up for battle or something.

Instead of spending the last month before Hogwarts worrying about his studies, he spent it practicing with his wand. By the time September 1st came, their bond was strong enough that Draco was almost able to do basic spells wordlessly.

The most amazing thing to him, however, was that his wand seemed to know him. _Really know him_. Way, way better than himself. For example, one night at a rare dinner where the three Malfoys ate together, his father dominated the conversation with how beneficial Slytherin would be on Draco. Not how beneficial Draco would be for Slytherin, mind. That talk stopped about a year after the Incident.

It occurred to Draco ten minutes into this speech that he wasn’t as anxious, angry, and all the other emotions that usually came with his father’s speeches. Sure, he had his shields up, but he himself wasn’t reacting emotionally. That was when he realized, in its sheath, his wand was pulsing compassion and reassurance into him.

He told his mother that night as she walked him to bed, and she laughed – a genuine one that Draco felt only he saw anymore.

“I’m looking for some books for you, you know,” she smiled. “It’s rare, you and your wand. Both together and individually. I want you to think about telling Severus about it.”

“What?” he asked, not expecting that.

“I suspect he would keep our secret and help tutor you.”

Draco frowned, turning the idea over. “Maybe. If he didn’t think me… weak.”

His mother stopped him in front of his door, putting both hands on his shoulders and looking sternly at him. “My darling… You are the _strongest_ person I know.”

Draco snorted in disbelief, trying to wave her away, but she gripped him firmer, getting his renewed attention.

“I’m deadly serious, love. When I saw you that night, I thought for sure my most darling boy was lost forever.”

“I was though, according to Father.”

She shook her head. “No person who ever lived, besides maybe Harry Potter himself, could have faced such an evil and come out of it as well as you have. Are you the same boy as before? No. In my opinion, darling, you are so much better.”

He felt his throat tighten but pushed out. “Better?”

She smiled. “Every single day, you remind me of the small things – the most precious things – that would make life meaningless if without. I spent so many years, especially during the war, without them. I never knew how little I lived until that…” she closed her eyes tightly but then opened them with determination. “Until you recovered and reminded me. I love you, darling.”

He hugged his mother tightly, not worrying about shields or what she might think of his reaction.

Most of their interactions were meaningful but had to be subtle. Rare was it that he could be so open, and he cherished every moment he could be.

*~*~*~*

Books. Stories, fiction or nonfiction. Information. Knowledge. He knew it wasn’t the most important thing. The most important thing was future, status, power. His mother had explained once that knowledge _was_ power, but the knowledge she was speaking of had to do with status and the uses of which to manipulate his position.

Just remembering that, he could feel disappointment from his wand. He wasn’t sure what would _disappoint_ his wand, but he made note of it. Still, as he said goodbye to his mother on September 1 st at Platform 9 ¾, he hugged her tightly. He didn’t want to think about where he was going. He didn’t want to think about what the next several months of his life entailed.

Instead, he decided to think of other things. Like books, or why his wand would be disappointed.

As he allowed himself to be pulled into a compartment on Hogwarts Expression by his childhood friends (connections, he corrected himself), an idea hit him.

His wand was intimate with him, in a wand-wizard kind of way. Ollivander was right - they had a relationship.

Everyone would probably laugh at him (even his mother, though it would be fondly and affectionately), but he thought he should probably name it.

He let his mind consider the matter as Greg helped store his trunk, and he, in turn, helped Vincent store his. He found himself sitting by the door, a book already in hand, when a name occurred to him that made his wand radiate approval.

The Cove.

Or, rather, Cove.

It was a word from the feeling he got as their magic connected for the first time, the serenity that made its way into him and settled into his core.

Cove. Perfect.

He cracked open his book - one of the Greek classics Dobby had gotten for him – and ignored the others while the train began to move.

Dobby was very well-intentioned.

It took Draco practically having a breakdown for Dobby to stop trying to punish himself in front of him. He knew, especially with his father as he was, that Dobby still punished himself, but Dobby was so distraught by Draco’s reaction, he kept all evidence away from him. In encouragement of Dobby _not_ hurting himself, Draco always made sure to open his Empathy to gauge the truth and praise the elf. On everything the elf did. Therefore, Dobby’s errands of books were sporadic in themes, periods, authors, genres, and writing style because Draco didn’t have the heart to tell him when he didn’t like a book.

For the travel to Hogwarts, Dobby gave him two books, both muggle. One wasn’t considered a classic but was extremely popular in its time; the one he decided to start with first was a classic, extremely unpopular in Draco’s time, even among muggles, or so Dobby told him. It was the story of Medusa, which Draco was very interesting in reading. He had already read the story of Perseus. Medusa from that story was fascinating to him, which Dobby knew, and he looked forward to reading her side of things.

Because that was one thing he learned from his Empathy. Everyone had a side. It didn’t make it right or wrong, but it did explain actions.

He spared a moment during the book’s boring introduction to see who he was sitting with at least. Pansy and Theo always caught his eye first because, well. They never did treat him the same after the Incident. Vincent, Greg, and Blaise were also there. Draco suspected in a few years all of them together would be big enough that six people couldn’t fit into one compartment. He kind of longed for that already.

He went back to his story, knowing Cove was listening in, and excitedly anticipated what horrible act Medusa committed to have had made the gods (documented as witches and wizards in their history) curse her so horribly. His childhood mates ignored him mostly, as they were used to him tucking himself into a corner alone, but tried to engage him now and then.

As Poseidon entered the story, Draco’s attention was gotten by Theo, Vincent, and Greg.

“Up,” Theo ordered.

“What?” Draco asked, frowning.

“Weren’t you listening?” Theo asked, obviously annoyed. He eyed Draco’s book with disgust. “ _Harry Potter_. Come on.”

Harry Potter?

Draco got up and followed the three out, mildly embarrassed that it took several seconds to even remember who Harry Potter was. Then, with fast calculation, he realized that Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, had to be in their year. After all, he knew for a fact that Harry Potter was only a month younger than him. Only those who turned eleven by November could enter Hogwarts – after November, they had to wait until the following year - which obviously meant Harry Potter was in their year.

His parents never talked about it, only ever mentioned Harry Potter as some sort of figure, both in admiration and disgust. He filed away a reminder to pay more attention to those kinds of things as he followed his friends and returned to his book.

Draco had a feeling of what he was about to read. He didn’t want it to happen. He needed to stop reading. But it couldn’t be true. Perseus was amazing. He wouldn’t… If he knew, he wouldn’t have…

He was vaguely aware of being basically shoved into another compartment, Theo by his side with Vincent and Greg behind them, though he couldn't care less about why. Someone would eventually steer him to his seat, they usually did.

“So you’re it, huh?” he heard Theo leer, and he had to agree, reading about Poseidon. Poseidon wouldn’t, surely. He knew what it looked like, but surely… He wouldn’t, would he?

“Excuse me?” he heard a familiar voice reply, and he almost looked up, but… Poseidon would. Wouldn’t he?

“And here I thought you were something special…”

Poseidon was supposed to be something special. He was a god! How could he?

“Back off,” came a new voice, and again, he almost looked up, but...

Poseidon was going to do it.

“Oh gross. Another one? Merlin… You’re _another_ Weasley? Aren’t your parents done humping yet?”

Poseidon did it. Draco didn’t understand. Desperately and viciously, he consumed the words. The Incident showed him rape first-hand – the cruelness, sickness, horror… That was what Poseidon did. Surely, Athena would protect her follower. Yet, she wasn’t. The text explained things simply: Athena was a goddess of war. She could not show favoritism or weakness in front of a male god. Medusa was defiled in her temple. The blame was put upon Medusa for being too tempting.

Surely not, Draco thought as he began to become upset. Cove sent soothing vibrations, which helped a little. He felt something or someone knock into his side, and he fell. His bottom landed on a seat, though, so he paid no nevermind. Instead, he let Cove sooth him and continued to read, shifting a little to get comfortable.

Yes. Rape was what condemned Medusa. Her punishment was to be cursed. Snake hair, exiled, made hideous, and doomed to be alone forever because anyone who looked her in the eye turned to –

“Hey!” he shouted as his book was ripped from his hand. Theo stood before him with Vincent and Greg right outside the door. Draco jumped up to try to catch his book Theo was now holding high above his head. Damn Theo and his three-inch height advantage. “Give that back! Athena’s making a horrible mistake!”

Theo kept it from him, sneered like Draco was worse than dung on his shoe, and threw the book into the corridor over Vincent’s and Greg’s heads.

“No!” Draco cried, chasing after it. He pushed Vincent and Greg aside, and luckily, the book didn’t go far. He picked it up, thankful.

Before he could open it, let alone find where he was, a hand grabbed his collar and forcibly (painfully) threw him against the doorframe of an open compartment.

Theo spat his face, “I would be careful, Malfoy. You don’t have Mummy here protecting you and making up excuses. It’s time you got out of your head before you’re _sorted_ wrong. Your little love for books was cute as a child, but what would dear ol’ Daddy say if his son didn’t hiss?”

He had never heard Theo sound so hateful before. That, on top of the reminder that his mother wasn’t going to be around to be on his side, that he was about to be a Slytherin, his father’s expectations, and a _hiss_... His whole arm felt like it was a little too close to a fire with the warmth Cove was pushing forth.

“Leave him alone!” he heard a familiar voice yell. It was enough to make Theo let go, and Draco took off the opposite direction. He had no idea where his compartment was, where his stuff was, but apparently, the commotion was enough to cause Pansy to stick her head out.

“Pansy!” he called.

Her face fell from curious to worried as she met him halfway and led him to where they were sitting.

Yes, Theo and Pansy never treated him the same after the Incident.

Theo avoided him for over a year, and when he returned, he took advantage of Draco’s ‘handicap.' Or so Theo always called it. Draco wasn’t an idiot, and he knew the only reason Theo was reinserted into his life was that Theo’s parents saw the effects as a handicap and knew Theo could possibly become ‘leader’ of the Slytherin pureblood tribe because of it. After all, Father always made it clear that that was Draco’s rightful position, to follow Father’s footsteps, and his father before him. Malfoys ran Slytherins as the Blacks became weaker. With no more Blacks, Malfoys were expected to take over. To lead.

His father expected it, and Theo’s father expected Theo to knock Draco off the throne. Draco was far from a fool. If he didn’t find some strength before they got to Slytherin’s common room, Theo would succeed.

Pansy, however, seemed to be just as scarred from that night as Draco. No one ever saw fit to tell him how he was discovered that night, but he knew, the moment he saw her again, she, at the very least, saw him during. The Pansy who was a gossip, manipulative, a little cruel, and a perfect pureblood Slytherin was someone the complete opposite when she dealt with Draco. Though the first three months at St. Mungo’s were mostly vague, he remembered hearing Pansy’s mother and his own mother talking about Pansy’s recovery. From what he gathered years later, Pansy had tried to rush in to help – not knowing what room it was or what state it was in – and was somewhat affected too.

She had always been fiercely protective of Draco after.

“Sit,” she commanded, forcing him in his spot by the door. She passed over a piece of chocolate and made him find where he was in his book before she got up and blocked the door.

Draco wasn’t nearly as engaged in the story as before by time an argument developed right outside the door, but he was able to switch to the other book Dobby gave him by the time the door opened and everyone besides Blaise (who was busy reading their Potions book in the other corner and never seemed to care about what was around him anyway) came back in. Draco was shaking a little but forced himself to just focus on the words in front of him. He could think about everything later. He just needed to _not think_ at the moment.

It was Pansy who got Draco’s attention sometime later to inform him to change into his robes, and it was with great reluctance that he put his book away.

When they arrived, Draco focused all his attention on attempting to put up his strongest mental shields yet. Cove seemed to want to handle the magical energy, which helped tremendously. He could still sense all the _magic_ around him, but it wasn’t affecting his Empathy negatively. He relaxed back into his mental shield as Cove acted as a gatekeeper of magical recognition and followed the others off the train.

By the time he was being pushed with other First Years towards whom he recognized as Hagrid, Draco was trying his best to remain calm. He was certain with all the magical energy around that he would have passed out by now. And this was just Hogsmeade, the village near Hogwarts. He had to remind himself that, no doubt, Cove’s protections would get and be stronger at the school, and he could already feel Cove preparing for it as he was led to some rowboats.

Before he could properly pay attention to his surroundings, he was in a boat with a determined-to-sound-unimpressed-and-failing-miserably Theo, a worried-for-Draco-because-he’s-so-odd Pansy, and a missing-my-better-half-Vincent Greg. Thankfully, both Greg and Theo proved to be enough distraction for Pansy so that Draco could, for the first time as they approached the huge castle, actually speak with Cove.

 _I’m scared_ , he thought blatantly toward his wand.

Cove tried to send some calmness to him, but Draco was still shaking a little.

 _Cove,_ he thought, again trying to direct his thoughts right to where his skin and Cove met underneath Cove’s sheath. _I’m really scared._

Suddenly, something happened that caused him to focus on just Cove as they landed on shore, walked up to the castle, and was led to reasonable size room.

First, Cove practically growled with protectiveness. It was right before they hit shore, and Draco shivered from it. Next, as he got out of the boat and began walking, came a huge wave of comfort and what felt like a promise (though he knew he could never describe it exactly). Then there was determination, again protectiveness, and also excitement so strong, it drowned out all his own emotions. By the time an older woman with glasses and hair tied in a bun so tight that it looked like it would cause a headache came and gone, Draco was calm again.

Actually, he felt great. And with a weird awed, but fond, way, he remembered his wand was centuries old.

He felt magic, sure. More magic than he ever felt before. Probably more magic than he would ever feel, considering the historical place where he was. But it was bearable. Cove was working hard, enough that his right arm was impossibly warm, but still, everything was bearable.

He sent a quick worried inquiry to Cove at the warmth physical on his skin, but all he got in return was smugness.

Actual smugness.

A smug that would put his godfather’s smug to shame.

From a wand.

Merlin.

It made him smile just a little as he walked into the Great Hall with the other First Years. It quickly disappeared, however.

The Great Hall made his arm heat up just a bit more and also almost overloaded his senses.

He shields were up, but not nearly powerful enough on their own for an entire room of hundreds of witches and wizards. Not in such a small space, which was odd to think _small_ when looking around.

It was everything that was described to him and so much more. He felt the most magical energy from the enchanted ceiling, and Cove didn’t even try to block it. It was freeing. So freeing. Just looking up at it past the candles felt like the feeling he got standing in an open field and breathing in deeply. Cove seemed to gain more strength from it as well, which made him close his eyes as he let himself be herded to the front of the hall.

This was okay. It was going to be okay. He could think about everything later. He just needed to get through the sorting and feast.

He watched as the headache-bun woman put a stool and old wizard hat in front of a long table full of adults. Head table, that was right. Perfectly placed so all the adults could watch over the four tables of children. One for each House.

He gulped.

He felt comfort from Cove and redirected his attention quickly as the old hat began to sing.

_"Oh you may not think I'm pretty,_

_But don't judge on what you see,_

_I'll eat myself if you can find_

_A smarter hat than me._

_You can keep your bowlers black,_

_Your top hats sleek and tall,_

_For I'm the Hogwarts Sorting Hat_

_And I can cap them all._

_There's nothing hidden in your head_

_The Sorting Hat can't see,_

_So try me on and I will tell you_

_Where you ought to be._

_You might belong in Gryffindor,_

_Where dwell the brave at heart,_

_Their daring, nerve, and chivalry_

_Set Gryffindors apart;_

_You might belong in Hufflepuff,_

_Where they are just and loyal,_

_Those patient Hufflepuffs are true_

_And unafraid of toil;_

_Or yet in wise old Ravenclaw,_

_if you've a ready mind,_

_Where those of wit and learning,_

_Will always find their kind;_

_Or perhaps in Slytherin_

_You'll make your real friends,_

_Those cunning folks use any means_

_To achieve their ends._

_So put me on! Don't be afraid!_

_And don't get in a flap!_

_You're in safe hands (though I have none)_

_For I'm a Thinking Cap!”_

Draco and Cove shared a moment of humor from the Sorting Hat’s singing, but it quickly disappeared.

They both remembered Draco’s obligation.

He glanced around as the first name was called and caught Theo’s eye. He sneered, hatefully and with purpose. While they had eye contact, Draco carefully let down a bit of his shield _just a little_ and tried to direct it at Theo. He wasn’t very good at the direction thing, but he was good enough to center the person’s emotions.

Sure enough, Theo felt was hatred. Envy. Obligation. Enemy. However, mostly hatred. He tried to not think about the hint of disgust that hovered with the hatred.

He dropped his eyes, reinforced his shields, and hugged his stomach. He wanted to appear strong, but over the last month, this highly un-Malfoy, undignified posture _did_ give him strength because it brought Cove closer to him.

Cove helped quickly calm him again, and he focused on what was ahead of him.

First, he caught eyes with his godfather. Severus always sneered, glared, smirked, and said rude, sometimes hateful, and always manipulative things. But being an Empath, Draco knew it was mostly an act. His godfather looked away quickly, but that just brought Draco’s attention to the man next to him with his shields slightly lowered as he was unconsciously reaching out toward his godfather.

Cove’s magic swelled in protectiveness as Draco gasped and tried to step away.

Dark. That was Dark. Too Dark.

“Ow!” someone complained behind him, making him jump and look around.

“Sorry. I’m sorry.”

Angry blue eyes underneath fiery red hair looked back at him, making him take a step in the opposite direction from before, almost bumping into someone else.

“ _Malfoy_ ,” the boy quietly scoffed. “Don’t think I was fooled back on that train. I know you’re the ring-leader of those bloody snakes.”

He felt himself frown in confusion as he desperately tried to build up his shields that had fallen from the surprise. It was hard to do in the face of such abhorrence. He felt himself start to tremble a little. “I…” he began, cursing himself with what his father would say if he saw him at that moment. He swallowed and tried again. “I… uh, I’m sorry? I didn’t mean… I swear. You aren’t hurt, are you?”

“Save it, _Malfoy_ ,” the boy spat again, causing Draco to wince and tremble more. This boy had power, apparently. Cove didn’t like him at all.

Draco could feel color being sucked from his face. He didn’t know this boy, but obviously, Draco’s father made sure Draco was known. Draco was to be the Slytherin Prince, after all. Father was always clear about that expectation, even after the Incident. _Especially_ after the Incident. Loudly. And publicly. To have it thrown in his face by a stranger, however, made it too real.

He was able to put up his shields again, but not before he felt the extent of this boy’s disapproval and dislike, which was surprisingly more difficult to handle than Theo’s. He was truly shaking now, which made him want to curse himself. Not even Cove was getting through at the moment.

“I’m sorry for whatever I did,” he whispered, secretly meaning it to mean he was sorry for whatever he might do in the future. Might be called to do. Might become. The boy just sneered in loathing for a long moment before Draco jumped at his name being called.

 _Focus, focus, focus,_ he told himself as he took in a deep breath, began to step forward, and breathed out again. He could feel Cove snapping to attention, its previous goals redirected. Whatever those goals were, he didn’t know. He let Cove worry about that.

He walked as steadily as he could toward the headache-bun woman holding the hat. He sat on the stool and closed his eyes.

This was it. He no longer could avoid his fate, his doom. He couldn’t put it off anymore. He couldn’t ignore it. He couldn’t hide from it.

The witch began to lower the hat, and it barely touched his head before it bellowed:

“RAVENCLAW!”

Draco gasped and went numb as the hat was dropped fully onto his head. The Sorting Hat was lifted a moment later, though, and a very quiet Great Hall came into view. He could feel Cove nudging him to move, feel its excitement, so he jumped and jogged to the Ravenclaw table, away from staring and gaping faces. He needed to think. This wasn’t right.

The headache-bun witch called the next name before the Great Hall seemed to recover. The next person was sorted into Gryffindor, though, pulling everyone’s attention away from him and allowing Draco the freedom to retreat into his shields.

Ravenclaw.

He was sorted into Ravenclaw?

He was a Ravenclaw.

He reviewed the Sorting Hat's song and felt himself blush a little. Yes, he was loyal, but only to those he wanted to be loyal to. He didn’t think he was brave at all, so he never considered Gryffindor, as it was. Cunning, sure. He was raised to be. But Ravenclaw…

What was it that the Sorting Hat said about Ravenclaw? If one had a ready mind, they could find wit and learning with their kind? He was quickly reminded of his mother telling him knowledge was power. Would she think that now? He certainly leaned on knowledge and learning since the Incident. It was comforting and safe.

More than that, he did love it. Even before. He loved learning and experiencing new things. He loved _knowing_ things, to be fair. Learning was just the annoying thing one had to do in order to know things.

He certainly wasn’t ambitious, he knew that. Not to his father’s ambition for him, as it were.

Reassurance flooded him from Cove, and he couldn’t stop his small smile.

He wasn’t going to the dark, green rooms in the dungeons. Like when he learned Cove couldn’t do Dark Magic, a giant wave of relief spread throughout him. Sure, his father was going to be furious, and he may be bullied by Theo after this. But it was done, right? He had a fresh start. A new start.

This was his chance to explore magic his way, and he wasn’t stupid enough to squander it.

His smile grew a little. He was a Ravenclaw. He wasn’t stupid at all.

A loud applause from around the room got his attention, and he noticed he missed the rest of the sorting. He hurriedly joined in, looking around himself. He was surrounded by six other First Years, all of whom looked pleased yet nervous.

Ravenclaw table was between the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables, he noticed, and as the Headmaster he knew to be Dumbledore stood and spoke nonsensical words, he found himself very glad he was sat with his back to the Slytherin and Hufflepuff tables. If he didn’t see his childhood connections for the rest of the night, he could think and digest this unexpected turn of events. As it stood, he wasn’t near ready to face them.

Food appeared in front of him, and Cove nudged him to eat. Not needed to be told twice, he loaded his plate with more food than what was acceptable for public. However, those around him did the same, so he didn’t stop himself. No one in his family’s circle needed to know. He was a _Ravenclaw_. None of them were around.

He chose to observe rather than participate as the others talked around him. There was only three other boy First Years: Terry Boot, Michael Corner, and Anthony Goldstein. The girls were Padma Patil, Mandy Brocklehurst, and Robin Harris. Knowing the boys were his new dorm mates, he paid more attention to them, wanting to know with whom he’d most likely spend most of his time.

Anthony had an air about him that was more mature than the others. He was confident, well spoken, and much more thoughtful. Terry was Irish and had a rash flare about him, but he was very friendly and open. At first, he thought Michael was a little overconfident, a bit pompous, but by the feast’s end, Draco realized the perceived smugness was much more of a muted brooding. He was a bit insecure and serious.

None of them seemed bothered by Draco, however, which was the best part. They didn’t seem to mind him at all and seemed genuinely interested. Draco answered small questions, offered few opinions, but made sure he kept his expression open and welcoming.

All too soon, the food was gone, and Dumbledore was standing again. Draco frowned at his speech. Most of it he was expecting, and Dumbledore was definitely just as he parents described him. Yet, Dumbledore seemed tensed despite the flamboyance he was trying to project. Though, if Draco had to tell a room full of children that if they go somewhere they weren’t supposed to, they would die a horrible death, he’d be a bit tense too.

“Why in the world would they make part of the castle dangerous?” Michael demanded as they stood. They were held back by a Prefect named Penelope Clearwater who was to lead the First Years separately to their dorms.

“I think that was just Dumbledore,” Penelope answered. “You shouldn’t worry. However, you should definitely obey. If the Headmaster wants students away from the third-floor corridor, you wouldn’t be doing yourself any favors by poking around.”

“It seems unreasonable,” Mandy spoke up. “The most direct way to assure that would be to spell the area. Not bring the entire school’s attention to it.”

Penelope smirked and nodded, but didn’t say anything else. Instead, she herded the seven of them behind the rest of the House.

Hogwarts was so much better in person than any description or picture had let on. The portraits were friendly and silly. The stairs, according to Penelope, were being kind that night, but they should be prepared tomorrow for them to try to trick them. The magic was much lighter than Draco was expecting, especially as they kept ascending. Cove was positively thrilled to be there, that was for certain. After all, it spent seven hundred years in a box. Draco couldn’t blame it.

However, Draco’s own tentative, nervous excitement slowly became annoyance as they continued to _climb_.

“How far up does it go?” Padma complained.

“Quite far,” Penelope laughed. “You’ll be used to it in a few weeks. Needless to say, Ravenclaws always have the best legs.”

Draco snorted as the others laughed.

After what felt like hours, they finally reached a large archway where a dark wooden door stood. A golden statue of an eagle with wide, thick wings was in place of the knocker, and Draco noted the door didn’t have a knob or handle of any kind. The eagle seemed to smile at them then spoke.

“Welcome to Ravenclaw Tower. Only those of sound mind will be granted entrance. To prove yourself to me, you will answer a riddle.”

Draco shifted a little and glanced at the others. They seemed excited at the challenge. Truthfully, Draco was too.

The eagle continued, his tone more neutral than the warm welcome just a moment ago. “Poor people have it. Rich people need it. If you eat it, you die. What is it?”

Draco frowned. Yes, that was indeed a riddle.

Poor people had it, yet rich people needed it. Usually, it was the other way around. Rich people tended to have whatever they wanted. Then again, this was _needed_. Rich people need for nothing.

Oh. Poor people had it, rich people needed it, and if you ate it, you’d die.

“Nothing,” he answered.

“Very good,” the eagle answered, and the door opened.

“Oh!” Michael groaned, slapping his forehead. “Duh.”

The others sniggered, and with a bit of pride, Draco led them inside.

Where his breath was taken from him.

The Ravenclaw common room was huge, with a tall, domed ceiling and large, long arched windows. It was a circular room furnished with tables, chairs, couches, armchairs, and several bookcases. The windows were framed by blue and bronze silk curtains, and the floor was carpeted with a midnight blue covered in very realistic stars. Whether that was because it reflected the dome ceiling that seemed to be completely see-through, much like that of the Great Hall’s, or because it was like that all the time was remained to be seen. A statue of Rowena Ravenclaw, according to Penelope, stood to the side of one of the room’s many alcove bookcases, and to the left of her was a door to the dorms.

“Through the door is two set of stairs. To the left is the boys’, to the right is the girls’. Climb the stairs until you find the door that will have First Years written on it at the very top. You will move down a floor with each year until your OWLs year, Fifth Year, when you will get your own, private room. I suggest everyone go to bed now so you may get up early enough to explore.”

Draco definitely thought that was a good suggestion. Students were lingering in the common room, laughing and catching up with each other. Draco wanted to study the room and its books, but that seemed to be impossible with the noise and crowd.

Draco, Michael, Anthony, and Terry climbed their spiral stone staircase to the very top, each agreeing there was no way they could get used to the amount of climbing they now had to do.

Their room was also circular with arched windows and a high ceiling. Four beds with blue curtains and bronze skill sheets were evenly spaced around. Between each bed were desks pillared by more bookcases. Draco smiled when he saw one bed was framed on either side with bookcases already full of all his books from home. No doubt Dobby’s doing.

At least he clearly had Dobby’s support.

The four boys awed and cooed over their new living space as they changed into their night clothes and took turns in the adjoined washroom. Draco found himself laughing and smiling more than he could remember doing with other children in a very long while, and he went to bed with Cove tucked comfortably in its sheath on his arm, relaxed by the sound of whistling wind sweeping around the Tower, high above the overwhelming magical energy below.

*~*~*~*

Draco was the first to wake. Cove, who didn’t sleep, of course, eagerly urged him out of bed and to look around. He grinned at his hidden, impatient wand. “Yeah, yeah,” he whispered to it. “I’m getting up. Let me stretch first.”

He stretched like a cat and let himself soak up the peace that filled the room. Then, he threw open his bed’s curtains and barely held in a gasp. There was a window between one of his bookcases and desk, arched and went all the way to the floor. Through it came the edges of a barely risen sun, but he didn’t need much light to see how breathtaking the view was. He came to stand right on the edge, his hands flat on the glass.

They were so high up! From where he stood, he had an amazing and clear view of the Quidditch field. He quickly decided binoculars were an absolute must. He could easily spy on the other team’s practices!

Encouraged, Draco took his time looking out the windows in the room, careful not to wake his dorm mates. It was spectacular. He could see all the edges of the forest, one of which had a hut near it, as well as most of the lake. It didn’t seem like there was any part of Hogwarts’ grounds that couldn’t be viewed from his windows.

Yes, binoculars were a must.

He dressed as quietly as he could but paused to observe his robes. Half of them had the insides bronze, the other half blue. Black on the outside, of course. He didn’t realize until that moment how many times he pictured himself in these robes, moving to wave his wand, with flickers of silky green or silver peeking through.

Renewed anxiety of what his parents were going to think hit him, but unless his father found a way to make the school go against the Sorting Hat, what was done was done. He wouldn’t be disowned for being a Ravenclaw, surely. His mother could come to accept it like she did his random acts of kindness, and though any chance of winning over his father completely was probably gone now, no doubt his father would find a way to make his sorting work to his best advantage.

He allowed himself a smile and put on his robes.

Downstairs in the common room, he was a little surprised to find he wasn’t the only one awake. Several older students were already there, chatting quietly, drinking coffee, and exploring the bookshelves.

First, Draco went around the room looking out the windows again. An older student noticed him and informed him that, other than the Astronomy Tower, theirs were the highest. She accompanied Draco around the windows once more, pointing out different things like where he was most likely to see Dumbledore chat with the merpeople in the lake or where she had once spotted a unicorn.

She then gave him a tour of the bookcases, and he was delighted to find that the many cabinets held other things such as maps, charts, and records as well as potion ingredients and other magical tools.

“We get made fun of sometimes because of the whole book thing,” she rolled her eyes. “But don’t get intimidated by it. You don’t have to like reading to be a Ravenclaw, and some of these books aren’t even for reading.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“Well, like this one here,” she answered, leading him to the alcove by Ravenclaw’s statue. She pulled a regular sized dark green book and opened it. The book immediately transformed into a small table, making him jump back in surprise. She chuckled at him kindly. “I know. Any book that looks like this one is actually a portable table. The purple ones are portable chairs.”

“Smart,” he praised. “That’s useful.”

“It really is, especially during exam time. Little hint, snag you one of each a good week before everyone starts studying like madmen. That way you can find any private place in the castle and study quietly.”

“Brilliant,” he smiled at her. “I will. Thank you.”

“No problem,” she said, gripping both sides of the table and folding it. It immediately changed back into its book form. She put it away and held out her hand. “I’m Catie. This is my last year, so I should leave someone behind with knowledge of my tricks and trades.”

Draco shook her hand, welcoming the friendship she was offering. Only then did he realize his shields were down, but he was completely fine. “Draco. I’d be honored to be your Ravenclaw apprentice.”

She chuckled again, but before she could say anything else, Draco’s name was being called. He turned to find Terry, Michael, and Anthony by the door. “Come on, Draco. Let’s go to breakfast!”

Draco said his goodbyes to an amused Catie and followed his dorm mates out into the castle, building up his shields with a little help from Cove. He was a bit too excited to focus completely at the moment.

“You’d think going downstairs would be easier,” Terry huffed by the time they reached the end of their Tower.

“I know,” Michael whined. “My legs are already killing me!”

“There has to be an easier way,” Anthony added. “If we were allowed brooms, I bet we could fly up.”

“I don’t know,” Draco added honestly. “It’s a pretty tight spiral. I got dizzy enough just walking, let alone flying.”

Terry and Anthony laughed. “You aren’t kidding!” Terry said.

They discussed the castle and their Tower on the way down to the Great Hall, getting random input by portraits, one of whom promised them that there was a room dedicated to bats down in the dungeons.

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Terry whispered. “Did you see Snape, the Head of Slytherin? He looks like a bat.”

“His other clothes definitely flatter him more,” Draco chuckled.

“You know him?” Michael asked.

“He’s my godfather.”

“Oh, that’s right,” Anthony said. “You’re a Malfoy. You’re the first in your family out of Slytherin, right?”

Anxiety sparked again, but Draco didn’t back down. He was going to get this a lot, he supposed. Might as well take the practice. “Yeah, although I think I have a great-great uncle or something that was a Hufflepuff, and a cousin, maybe? The family doesn’t talk about them.”

Anthony frowned at that, but Terry and Michael snorted, gave a quick insult to pureblood idiots, and began talking about their muggle parents, both of the children being half-blood.

The Great Hall was alive with animated excitement, and Draco had to take a moment to clear his mind and reinforce his shields. He was going to be exhausted by the end of the day if he was going to be around this. There must be an easier way, he thought, and he bet he could find one there. The prospect of research brightened him a little.

The family owl was among the many others that flew in at one point, and he quickly shoved the small letter it dumped on his plate away to read later. Whatever was in there was something he was pretty sure he didn’t want an audience around when he read it. Not long after, the short, dwarf professor began making his way around their table, passing out schedules. Professor Flitwick was pointed out to the First Years the night before. He was their Head, and according to the older students, he was very fair, reasonable, and every year tried to start a Hogwarts Choir. They were advised that if they had any musical talent, it would probably be best to hide that from the professor.

“And Malfoy!” Professor Flitwick squeaked, handing Draco his schedule. “I’ve been expecting your parents to bomb my quarters with owls,” he laughed. “Do let them know they can reach out to me at any time.”

“Yes, sir,” he said, deciding _not_ to do that.

He looked at his schedule, paying more attention to the times and people than the subjects. Half his classes were with Hufflepuffs, the other half with Gryffindors. Which meant Slytherins spent half their classes the same. He was secretly thankful he wouldn’t be having any classes with them, but he did wonder as to why that was. One would think the school would encourage all Houses to mix.

Another thing to be thankful for, he thought, was that he didn’t have Potions until next week. It was a Thursday, and he had Potions only on Mondays and Wednesday with the Hufflepuffs. He had been pointedly avoiding his godfather in the hall. He didn’t much think Severus would care he was in Ravenclaw. He would care more how Draco _felt_ , but considering he probably expected Draco to feel awful about it, Draco wasn’t much ready to cross that bridge.

Breakfast was over quickly, and his first class was Defense Against the Dark Arts. The Dark force he felt around the professor the night before was either very muted, or Cove was ready for it. Regardless, he was thankful he didn’t have much time to work himself up over it. The class was nothing short of a joke, but the Hufflepuffs hung on Professor Quirrell’s every word. It was very entertaining.

Next, they had Transfiguration, and he got the sense it was the Hufflepuffs’ turn to find the Ravenclaws entertaining. Professor McGonagall was strict but not unkind. Her knowledge and experience immediately gained their respect. A couple of Hufflepuffs giggled at Mandy who was practically out of her seat in adept attention. A sharp glare from the professor silenced them, but Draco lowered his shields just enough to sense the professor’s amusement.

Lunch was spent with the First Years pouring over the texts from their morning classes, and Draco was content to simply watch them. He was impressed by how easy it was to keep his Empathy in check. Severus always told him the more he practiced, the easier it would be, but he never had many opportunities. Even so, he and his dorm mates already made plans to explore Hogwarts’ library before dinner, and he was looking forward to searching for any information on Empaths.

Right after lunch, they had Herbology with the Gryffindors. He didn’t know as much about Herbology than he did the other subjects, but he did know quite a bit listening to his godfather talk about Potions ingredients and how to harvest them.

They arrived after the Gryffindors, and Draco got a pleasant surprise added to his already great day: the boy he met at Diagon Alley spotted him and ran over.

“Hi,” he said.

Draco smiled. “Hi.”

“I’m Harry,” he said, holding out his hand. “Draco, right?”

“Yeah,” Draco confirmed, shaking his hand. “Huh. I guess we didn’t give each other our names when we met, did we?”

“No,” Harry smiled back. “I didn’t realize it until after I got home. I never thanked you for the quill.”

Draco waved a hand to dismiss the gratitude. “Please, don’t thank me. So, how do you like Hogwarts?”

Harry’s eyes lit up. “It’s amazing, isn’t it?”

“Much better than I was expecting, yes,” Draco agreed. “I’m really sore, though.”

“Sore?” Harry asked.

“Yeah. Our Tower is the second highest.”

The mention of this new foe got Terry’s attention. “No, Draco! I had just forgotten about the stairs!”

Draco grinned at his dorm mate’s dramatics, and Harry laughed. Right then, the angry boy he met during the sorting came to stand next to Harry. Cove sent out a flash of protectiveness.

“Malfoy,” he sneered.

“Hello,” Draco said uncertainly.

“Come on, Harry. They’re letting us in.”

Harry frowned at the boy – who Draco was now realizing was a _Weasley_ , he had to be, no wonder he hated Draco - then pointedly turned back to Draco. “Come on, Draco.”

“I’m so excited,” Michael bounced, leading them forward.

“Harry, over here,” Weasley tried to lead him, but Harry didn’t seem to have heard him and instead followed the four Ravenclaw boys. The center of the greenhouse was a u-shaped table, Professor Sprout standing in the middle. Harry sat between Draco and Terry, looking around at all the plants that lined the walls. Draco was unsure of Harry’s motives, or perhaps he was just distracted by the greenhouse, but one glance at Weasley showed Draco that Weasley was unhappy with Harry’s seating decision, as well as confused.

“Welcome to Herbology!” Professor Sprout began happily. “Here, you will learn all about magical and mundane plants and fungi and all their uses. Not only is Herbology extremely important when it comes to Potions, but some plants and seeds have properties witches and wizards can use on their own. Take this little plant,” she said, gesturing to a small potted plant at the edge of the table. Its stems were a vibrant green that grew quite ugly orange leaves. “Have a headache? Just burn a leaf from it and inhale the smoke. Mind you, it only works for headaches not brought on as a symptom of something else, but it is quite useful during exams.” Draco straightened up and took a better look at the plant.

“What’s it called?” Padma asked, raising her hand.

“ _Sana Mente_ ,” Professor Sprout answered. “I have seeds if anyone is interested in having their own pot in their dorms?” The Ravenclaws didn’t hesitate to agree, nor did the girl he recognized as the girl from Madam Malkin’s with the book. She was a Gryffindor also, which Draco thought was interesting.

Professor Sprout chuckled good-naturedly and paused to pass out small pots already filled with dirt and a seed each. Some Gryffindors didn’t look too thrilled, but Professor Sprout took the opportunity to begin their first lesson on potting and seeding, as well as how to care for _Sana Mente_ specifically.

“Our dorm is going to smell like dirt,” Michael complained.

“It’ll be worth it,” Terry said.

“What do you think, Draco?” Harry asked. Compared to how confident Harry was when they entered, the shyness Draco remembered from when they first met was back with full force.

“I agree they’ll be useful,” Draco answered. “Though dirt isn’t my favorite smell.”

Michael snorted, turned to say something, but then froze altogether. “Merlin,” he said. “You’re Harry Potter.”

Draco looked up, surprised, and considered Harry, who squirmed a little and nodded.

Harry Potter. Merlin, indeed. Harry Potter. Draco never really thought much about Harry Potter, not as a person at any rate. Then again, he had told himself to pay more attention to those kinds of things.

Knowing what it was like to have people stare, however, Draco quickly returned to his planting, forcing a non-reaction. He could think on that later.

“Hi!” Terry said enthusiastically. “I’m Terry Boot.”

“And I’m Michael. This is Anthony. You seem to know Draco, of course.”

“Draco, why didn’t you tell us you were friends with Harry Potter?” Terry asked.

“I didn’t realize I was,” Draco answered honestly. He gave Harry a quick smile but mainly focused on his work.

“We met at Diagon Alley,” Harry provided.

“Really?” Michael said. “I didn’t even go to Diagon. My mother picked up everything for me, and I got my wand in France.”

“That’s cool,” Harry said.

“So that explains why you were so terrible in Transfiguration!” Terry teased. “Your wand can only respond to French commands.”

The five of them laughed.

“Alright,” Professor Sprout got everyone’s attention. “Those keeping their plant, kindly put it away. Otherwise, please put your pots over there on that table. Yeah, right there,” she confirmed as some students hesitantly got up. Harry and the bushy-haired girl were the only Gryffindors to keep theirs.

“Idiots,” Michael muttered. “You better guard your plant, Harry.”

“Yeah,” Anthony agreed, leaning over Michael to address Harry. “Come exams, your mates might set fire to the whole plant.”

Draco chuckled and added, “Just close off the fireplace and toss it in.”

“Do you guys even have a fireplace?” Terry asked Harry, who nodded.

“Wait, we don’t have one,” Michael frowned. “Not in our room, anyway.”

“We don’t, do we?” Draco mused. “That’s rather odd, isn’t it?”

Anthony chuckled. “Wow, aren’t we classic Ravenclaws? We’ve been here almost a full day, and we’re too in our own heads to notice Harry Potter or that we don’t have a sodding fireplace.”

This caused the five of them to laugh again, and Draco decided that, come what may, he got on better with his dorm mates than he ever did with his childhood friends.

Professor Sprout got their attention again and showed them basic plants they would need to know for their magical education then set them on to sorting through seeds and organizing them by type.

They worked in silence for a few minutes before Anthony spoke up again, though his voice was somber. “We didn’t notice something else either,” he pointed out.

“What’s that?” Michael asked.

“Not everyone is happy with Draco’s sorting.”

Draco tensed.

“What do you mean?” Michael asked.

“Well, no one clapped last night, did they?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Draco whispered, but Anthony pressed.

“Have your parents written, Draco?”

Draco nodded but didn’t say further. Michael mumbled something about people being idiots for caring about that sort of thing, to which Terry laughed and agreed. The others were much quicker at sorting their seeds than Draco, mainly because he was preoccupied with what Anthony just announced. No one did clap for him, did they? Once the others’ conversation got louder, Harry leaned toward Draco and whispered, “Are you okay?”

Draco looked up in surprise once again and tried to smile. “Of course.”

“Ron said your parents aren’t very nice…”

“Ron? Oh, Ronald Weasley? Well, yes, I suppose he wouldn’t have a very good impression of them.”

“Yeah…” Harry agreed, looking conflicted. Draco lowered his shields just enough to get a sense of worry, caring, as well as wariness and caution.

Draco cleared his throat and said, “Personally, I think the Weasleys are kind and very intelligent. My father disagrees with Mr. Weasley’s interests, but I think it’s smart to study muggles. They’ve found so many ways around not having magic, they’ve basically created their own.”

Harry beamed at Draco and nodded. “I told Ron about television. I don’t think he believes me about how they work.”

Draco chuckled, thankful for the change in topic. “I’ve never seen one, but I’ve read about them.”

“My cousin is basically obsessed with them.”

“Obsessed with what?” Terry asked, and they spent the rest of the lesson talking about muggle inventions, Anthony being very upset that most electronics wouldn’t work at Hogwarts when he was told.

Ron Weasley was by Harry’s side almost immediately after they left the greenhouse, and Draco politely stepped away, waving goodbye to Harry and hurried after his dorm mates. He didn’t need Ron to like him, but he also didn’t want to get in the way of what sounded like a starting friendship between him and Harry.

He also didn’t need the reminder of his parents. He was very successfully avoiding thinking about them.

In Astronomy, they learned of a benefit to their Tower as they wouldn’t have to travel so far for their midnight lessons when they came around, not to mention having it as their last class for the day meant they didn’t have to go far to return to their dorms either. The four boys did their homework, all eventually ended up piled on Draco’s bed since Draco knew the material already. It took only an hour to complete their assignments, then they were off to the library.

“Beautiful,” Anthony admired as soon as they entered.

Draco would have gone with stunning rather than beautiful, but still. The library was huge! Draco agreed with Catie’s assessment that one didn’t have to love books and reading to be a Ravenclaw, but he was certainly glad that his dorm mates apparently loved to read as much as he. The librarian had to fetch them for dinner, annoyed that they wanted to check out as many books as they did.

Draco found a total of nine books on Empaths. He allowed his dorm mates to lead the way to the Great Hall as he dug into the first one.

At first, it didn’t tell him anything he didn’t already know, but by the time he was halfway through dinner, he learned something he suspected but had always told himself it mustn’t have been true because surely someone would have told him.

Empaths could be trained.

Draco didn’t have to be doomed to a life of constantly repressing his Empathy and hiding from it. He _knew_ the argument between Severus and his father the night his father demanded Severus teach him Occlumency wasn’t just about his age!

Enraged, Draco whipped around to stare at his godfather, who, of course, was already watching him. Severus raised an unimpressed eyebrow in question to Draco’s glare, to which Draco responded by holding up the book so Severus could see what he was reading.

Severus gave him a slow nod, silently telling Draco they would discuss it later. Draco huffed and threw the book down a little too hard.

“Whoa, watch the merchandise!” Terry chastised.

“What’s wrong?” Anthony asked.

“Nothing,” Draco answered.

He didn’t know why he was so surprised. He was his father’s to be molded, after all. To be used and shaped however his father decided was best for the family. For the first time, it made him angry. His life had always been filled with dread and fear ever since The Incident. Everything about him was constantly criticized. The pressure alone! Today was the first day he was… free. Free from his father’s expectations and orders. Just thinking about how he was compared to yesterday made his nerves stand on end, sizzling with the intense magic in the air, which, he just learned, was an extremely useful and powerful element of being an Empath.

“You know what,” he said suddenly, “it isn’t nothing. I’m furious.”

“You’re kidding,” Michael deadpanned.

Draco shot him a glare, though there wasn’t much heat in it directed at the Ravenclaw. Meal half-finished, he gathered his books and left. On the way up to his Tower (having gotten lost once and was told directions from a helpful portrait), he pulled out the letter from home. Might as well read it now while the ball was rolling.

_Dearest Draco,_

_We’ve received notice that you arrived safely. I believe congratulations are in order. Ravenclaw is a very prestigious and honorable House. As I have just told your father, it comes as to no surprise, with him as your tutor. After all, he had taken great care to make sure you are very advanced. I want to hear all about your first week as soon as you can, love. Make plenty of friends, and know that just because Severus is not your Head of House doesn’t mean he isn’t still there for you._

_With great love and pride,_

_Mother_

Draco smiled down at the letter. Bless his mother. She clearly headed off his father and was on Draco’s side. No doubt Father would still try to find a way to fix the ‘problem,' but if he had the support of his mother, everything would work out.

However, he was still not happy about his mother not discussing the truth about his Empathy.

He was out of breath by the time he reached the Tower and needed a minute before he could concentrate on the golden eagle.

“Ready?” it asked.

Draco nodded.

“How can a pocket be empty and still have something in it?”

It can’t, Draco thought. Draco visualized a pocket and tried to image items that could be there but not. Without any other clues, he didn’t think the riddle pointed to some obscure magic or magical item. That would be overthinking it. Therefore, it was something simple.

He smirked. “It can have a hole in it.”

The eagle nodded. “Acceptable.”

Though he was quickly falling in love with the common room, the dome reflecting the setting sun, Draco decided to go to his room. He was able to lower his shields completely there. He changed into his soft cotton pajamas, grabbed the blanket off his bed, and curled up with the Empath book on the floor by his window. The Quidditch pitch was empty, but it still brought a smile to his face. He settled in, setting aside his anger by absorbing as many words as he could.

*~*~*~*

His next day of classes was much like his first, though he did learn he needed to stay away from the ghosts, whose energy was able to crash right through his shields and sting his Empathy. Harry sat next to him in Charms and seemed to be getting on quite well with the four Ravenclaws. Draco couldn’t know for sure, but it seemed as though Harry appreciated that the Ravenclaws cared more about the lesson than him. It was definitely something Draco greatly appreciated about his dorm mates in consideration to himself. They didn't seem to care one way or the other who he was.

He breezed through his homework again, but this time didn’t help the others. Instead, in between classes and during meals, Draco lost himself in his books on Empaths.

Come that night, Draco learned three very important things. One, there was no reason why being an Empath should overwhelm him when he didn’t have his mental shields up. Two, he would need a teacher to train him. Three… he didn’t want his teacher to be his godfather.

Therefore, Saturday before lunch, Draco found himself knocking on his Head of House’s office door.

“Mr. Malfoy?” Professor Flitwick greeted, clearly surprised. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, sir,” he answered. “I was just hoping I could discuss something with you.”

Professor Flitwick raised an eyebrow and allowed Draco in. He knew his father wanted to keep his Empathy a secret, and he assumed Severus was the only teacher who knew. His father would be furious if he found out he was doing this, but as Draco reasoned with himself, his Empathy directly affected his quality of life. He had every right in the world to ask for help, to which Cove clearly agreed adamantly.

His father be damned.

“What can I do for you?” Profession Flitwick asked.

“Sir, there’s something about me that my family would rather keep secret. However, I’ve learned from some books in the library here that there is actually help for me, and I was hoping you could advise me the best way to get it.”

“I see. And what is this secret?”

“I’m an Empath.”

The professor’s eyes went wide. “An Empath?”

“Yes, sir. See, my father doesn’t approve. He had my godfather teach me Occlumency to shield it.”

The professor’s eyes went even wider. “Occlumency? But you’re only eleven!”

“Yes, sir. My godfather is Severus Snape, however.”

“Ah…” Professor Flitwick nodded. “I suppose if anyone could teach a child part of something that extremely advanced, it would Severus.”

“To be fair,” Draco smiled, “I only know very little. Just enough to keep me from being overwhelmed. I doubt I would be able to stop anyone from entering my mind.”

Professor Flitwick chuckled. “I would say not. You must be advanced, but you would have to be the next Merlin to do that at your age.”

Draco nodded. “I read, though, that I don’t have to do that. I can be trained and my Empathy controlled.”

“You definitely can! I'm frankly floored if you aren't, that's very unhealthy. Why haven’t you been trained before?”

Draco ducked his head and answered, “My father doesn’t approve.”

Professor Flitwick huffed, and Draco could feel waves of his professor’s disapproval, _not_ aimed at Draco. “Well, we’ll just have to have a word with him, won’t we?”

“If you think that’s best, sir. Honestly, I just want to be trained. I don’t see much reason why… my father should know,” he said carefully.

Professor Flitwick eyed him critically, sighed, then nodded. “Perhaps. But I agree you must be trained. With you being so young, there is a very high possibility of your Occlumency slipping. If it happened during a feast!” he squeaked and shook his head. “I wouldn’t envy your headache. You most likely would faint... at best,” he added ominously, and Draco frowned, making a mental note at that. What else could happen other than fainting?

Draco nodded, though, not wanting to derail them since it seemed he might be getting his way.

“Well, I’ll discuss with the Headmaster, Mr. Malfoy. Why don’t you run along to lunch? I’ll come find you later.”

“Thank you, sir,” Draco smiled, relief once again making itself prominent inside him.

*~*~*~*

Terry had the bright idea of enjoying the warm weather while it lasted, so Draco found himself outside by the lake with Terry, Michael, and Anthony that afternoon. He was reading the third book he had gotten on his Empathy while the others were reading their textbooks and discussing future lessons. He had gone through a whole chapter before he noticed that two other people had joined him.

He looked up to find Harry and a wary looking Ron.

“Finally noticed, huh?” Harry smiled, causing the Ravenclaws to laugh.

“Some friend,” Ron mumbled.

“Sorry,” Draco smiled back, ignoring the redhead.

“He does that,” Harry informed Ron. “They all do. It’s a Ravenclaw thing, I guess. They get too far in their head or something.”

Terry laughed. “Gryffindors don’t have that problem. There’s hardly anything in there!”

“Hey,” Harry swatted at him, though he still grinned at the friendly teasing.

“That’s not true,” Anthony teased as well. “They’re problems is they get too involved with the outside world. It’s what makes them reckless.”

Michael snorted. “Better than Slytherins. They’re too involved with the outside world, too, but that’s what makes them sneaky.”

“And what of Hufflepuff?” Draco asked, enjoying their analysis.

“Hufflepuffs don’t care either way,” Terry said. “As long as they have a full belly and good conversation, they’re happy.”

“My father said something once,” Anthony added. “What was it…? Oh. He said, ‘Slytherins will kill for you, Gryffindors will die for you, Hufflepuffs will die with you, and Ravenclaws will find a way where no one dies.’”

“Why in the world does death have to be involved in the first place?” Draco frowned.

Harry laughed. “And point proven.”

“I’m sorry to interrupt,” came a voice above them. They turned to see Professor McGonagall who was clearly trying her best not to seem amused. Draco wondered how much she overheard. “Mr. Malfoy, the Headmaster would like to see you.”

Draco smiled, knowing what it was about. He quickly collected his things and said goodbye to his curious and worried looking fellow students. He tried to smile reassuringly at them, but that just made them look more curious.

Professor McGonagall led him back into the castle and up the stairs. Before long, they were standing in front of a golden statue of a gargoyle.

“Lemon drop,” the professor told it. The gargoyle sprang to life, revealing a moving, spiral staircase.

“Impressive,” Draco couldn’t help but say out loud. “Did you know muggles have moving staircases as well?”

Professor McGonagall looked down at him in apparent surprise. “They do?”

Draco nodded. “They call them escalators, I believe. They run on motors.”

“How very interesting,” she mused as she knocked on the door.

When they stepped inside, Draco immediately was too busy taking in the room to really pay attention to anything else. The magic in the room was thick, but Light. The room was wide and large with portraits lining the walls. Portraits of past Headmasters and Headmistresses, he realized. What caught his attention the most was the dozens of magical objects cluttered around the room, some of them dormant, some of them activated.

He also noticed a pleasant smell of apples.

“Mr. Malfoy,” someone said. He snapped his head around to find four adults watching him: Professor McGonagall, impassive, Professor Flitwick, looking excited, Professor Snape, also impassive, and Professor Dumbledore who had some humor twinkling in his eyes.

“Have a seat, Mr. Malfoy,” Professor Dumbledore gestured to a chair in front of his desk. Draco did as he was asked, and the Headmaster took a seat behind his claw-footed desk. Draco noted the Sorting Hat on a shelf behind it. He felt large affection for the ugly thing, and he could sense Cove did too. “I believe you know why you’re here.”

“My Empathy,” Draco nodded, unable to stop the hope spreading throughout him. Cove radiated with it as well. “Am I going to get the training I need?”

The Headmaster smiled. “Yes, Mr. Malfoy. Professor Snape has informed me that he had warned your father you would need training eventually. It’s unhealthy for you to continue as you have been.”

“Why didn’t you come to me, Draco?” Severus asked.

Draco shrugged, avoiding his gaze. “I thought you would tell Father,” he mumbled, which was true, but also because he was angry with him. Still was angry with him.

“Well, you’re right. I am, but to convince him to allow your training. In fact, I already have.”

Draco’s head snapped to him. “You have?”

“Yes, before you started term. He agreed to let me train you while you’re here.”

“Oh. Why didn’t anyone tell me?” Draco frowned.

Dumbledore chuckled, getting his attention again. “I believe Professor Snape was simply waiting until he could have a private word with you. He thought he would have to explain a lot of things, but it seems you beat him to it.”

“Yes, sir,” Draco agreed.

Dumbledore inclined his head. “It’s good you did tell the staff, however, as some of us are better than others at different aspects your training will require.”

“What will my training require?”

“For complete training, you will be having lessons with me, the Headmaster, and Professor McGonagall,” Severus answered. “I will be teaching you meditation and centering yourself.”

“I shall teach you about absorbing and releasing power and magic,” Professor McGonagall stepped in.

“And I, Legilimency,” Dumbledore added.

Draco felt his jaw drop. “I haven’t read about Legilimency being a part of Empathy.”

“No, most Empaths don’t branch into Legilimency until they are much older, but as you’ve already learned some Occlumency, we believe you are experienced enough to begin.” He held Draco’s eyes, reading them, even though Draco knew he wasn’t penetrating his mind. Fleetingly, Draco wondered if he was put off by his eyes. “You are most definitely mature enough.”

“Thank you?”

Dumbledore chuckled again. “You are very welcome. You are a unique wizard, Mr. Malfoy. I am honored to be teaching you.”

Draco felt uncomfortable with the praise and squirmed a little. “Thank you,” he said more definitive that time. “When will these lessons begin?”

“Your first lesson with Professor Snape will start on Monday night. Your lessons with Professor McGonagall will be on Tuesday nights, and mine will be on Thursday nights.”

Draco smiled. “Okay.”

“We also agree that we see no reason for your father to be informed of other teachers being involved in your lessons.”

Draco’s smile only grew. “Thank you, Headmaster.”

They were dismissed after that, and though he could tell Severus wanted to get him alone, he was able to pull away and go back to the others who were still out in the castle's grounds. They asked what the Headmaster wanted, but Draco just told them the Headmaster wanted to meet him. His fellow Ravenclaws accepted that, but he didn’t miss the exchanged glance between the two Gryffindors.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know how you like this, and if you see any mistakes, feel free to point them out!
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> [Harry's Side of Things Part 1: Meeting Draco](https://wcbc.tumblr.com/post/168226199763/the-incident-harrys-side-of-things-part-1)
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> [Harry's Side of Things Part 2: Hogwarts Express and the Sorting](https://wcbc.tumblr.com/post/168227929243/the-incident-harrys-side-of-things-part-2)


	3. Mountains are Quite Tiny When One Soars

Monday night, Severus demanded he had dinner with him in his office. The first thing Severus did was reprimand Draco for avoiding him. Then he congratulated him on being in Ravenclaw and reprimanded Draco more for thinking Severus would care. Then he reprimanded him for not coming to Severus about his Empathy. Finally, he reprimanded him for being too loud in his class earlier that day with his ‘new Ravenclaw buddies’.

By the time his lesson began, Draco felt properly ashamed but was still angry with his godfather.

He had to tell his professors what his wand truly was, and it turned out Cove was an incredible asset to mediation. Severus told him to practice every night. It not only would help him go to sleep, but Severus promised it would help with some reoccurring nightmares Draco had every now and then as well.

His lesson with McGonagall was interesting. She huffed and complained about how he should have been trained years before like an angry mother hen as she examined him and his magic. She quickly turned back into teacher mode, however, and set him to work holding a quill and assessing the magic around it. He was able to guess the last time a witch or wizard used the quill, and he found himself preening at her praise when he finally guessed correctly.

He also was pleased with her praise for already knowing about magic and the body. She assigned him several theory books to read and encouraged him to walk the grounds of the school without his shields to get a sense of separate energies.

His lesson with Dumbledore gave him a headache, however. His office was a bit overwhelming without his wand censoring the magic, but Dumbledore assured him it was important to start focusing his mind and magic without it first. He also wasn’t sure how he liked Dumbledore. The man functioned as though he was in on a private joke, but when he taught, he was much more serious, which Draco preferred.

Before he knew it, the weeks began to fly by. His schoolwork was simple and easy for him, and he had no problem always quickly getting that out of his way. Instead, he spent most of his study time working on magical theory and reading on human psychology.

Somewhere along the way, Draco befriended the bushy-haired girl in Gryffindor, Hermione Granger. Terry and Michael’s favorite entertainment, it seemed, was to watch Ron whenever they all got together to study. It would seem being friends with Harry put Ron in the uncomfortable position of having to put up with both Hermione’s and Draco’s presence. Secretly, the Ravenclaws made bets with each other on who would cause the redhead's cheeks the flush first.

Ron seemed to dislike Draco on principle. He often overheard hushed arguments between him and Harry, Ron desperately trying to get Harry to understand that being connected to a Malfoy could lead to no good. Harry, on the other hand, kept arguing fiercely that Draco was nothing like his parents and Ron should give him a chance. Draco was humbled by Harry’s determination to be friends, though he didn’t understand why he was bothering if it put a wedge between him and Ron.

At the start of October on a Saturday afternoon, things apparently had come to a head between them because Harry marched up to Draco during lunch and invited Draco down to Hagrid’s for tea. He looked quite like he would set Draco on fire if he refused.

It was a tense and awkward silence down to the hut, and Draco thought that, if nothing else, afternoon tea with Harry, Ron, and Hagrid would prove to be excellent practice for his Empathy.

Hagrid let them in with a wide grin, and a big dog rushed to Draco. He barely had time to register the comfy, homey, albeit rustic, home before being pushed to the floor. It punched a laugh out of him, his Empathy flaring with happiness from the animal.

“Hello!” he greeted the dog, laughing and petting its head.

“Fang!” Hagrid barked, pulling the dog from him. “Sorry ‘bout that.”

“Please, don’t be,” Draco smiled, standing and petting Fang again.

“Well, come in, come in,” Hagrid herded them to a large table. “Tea’s ‘bout done.”

Fang put his head on Draco’s lap, and Draco was content to lean over and love on him. He was a very wrinkled thing, though his fur was soft. The drooling wasn’t exactly pleasant, but Fang was a bundle of friendliness, happiness, and delight. “You’re very sweet,” he quietly told the dog. Fang responded by licking his face.

“How can you stand that?” Ron’s voice cut in, looking at Draco with disgust.

“I’ve never been good at denying a happy animal,” Draco answered.

“Compared to the other dogs at this school, Ron, you should be thrilled with Fang,” Harry said.

“There are other dogs here?” Draco asked with interest.

“Yeah,” Ron shuddered. “We found out why the third-floor corridor is closed off to students. There’s a giant three-headed dog there!”

“How do y’know ‘bout Fluffy?” Hagrid asked, voice raised in shock.

“ _Fluffy?_ ” Ron and Harry said together.

“Yeah,” Hagrid answered, and Draco could feel some defensiveness coming off him. “He’s mine.”

“He’s _yours_?” Ron asked, outraged. “You _own_ that vicious beast?”

“You named a vicious, three-headed dog Fluffy and this sweet thing Fang?” Draco asked, trying not to smile. There were several emotions waffling around in the room, and with none of them overwhelmingly negative, he was finding the scene funny. He was impressed with how much his lessons were already helping after just a few weeks.

Hagrid caught his eye and seemed to see his humor. He grinned and winked at him.

“Hagrid!” Ron pressed.

“Is Fluffy guarding whatever you took from the Gringott’s vault?” Harry asked, excitement rolling off him.

Hagrid sputtered. “How d’ya know ‘bout that?”

“Fluffy,” Harry answered. “He was standing over a trapped door. The vault we went to that day in Diagon Alley, the one you emptied, the one that was robbed the same day! You moved whatever was in there to Hogwarts, didn’t you?”

Hagrid looked flabbergasted, and a bit of panic mixed with his emotions. “Yeh aren’t s’pposed to know ‘bout that!”

“It would seem they do,” Draco unhelpfully inputted, though he wanted to ease some of Hagrid’s panic. “How vicious is your Fluffy if it can do better than Gringott’s dragon?”

“It doesn’t’ve anythin’ to do with that,” Hagrid chastised, protectiveness for the beast peeking through.

“So, what does it have to do with?” Harry asked.

Picking up Hagrid’s frustration now, Draco interrupted, “How did you come to discover Fluffy?”

“Yeah, how did yeh,” Hagrid jumped on the chance to not answer Harry’s questions. “Rule-breakin’, that was.”

Anger spiked from Harry, who turned to Ron. “Yeah, Ron. Why don’t you tell them how we found Fluffy?”

Ron crossed his arms and glared at Harry for a moment before dropping his eyes. “I think a better question is why does Malfoy meet with the Headmaster once a week?”

“Excuse me?” Draco tensed.

“Ron was trying to follow Draco,” Harry said, voice apologetic, but the anger was still there. “He noticed you meet with Dumbledore once a week, and he was trying to find out why.”

Draco’s own anger began to build as he stared hard at Ron. “That isn’t any of your business.”

Ron snorted and stared back. “You’re up to something. Your father has been trying to get rid of Dumbledore for years. Now, his son comes to Hogwarts and suddenly all buddy-buddy with the Headmaster? I don’t think so.”

“I see…” was all Draco said. He was generally neutral about Weasley, but that was quickly changing.

“Well?” Ron said expectantly. “What is it? If you have nothing to hide, you would have told us.”

Cove was angry now too. Draco took a steadying breath, calming and centering himself as Severus had been teaching him. “I never said I didn’t have anything to hide, did I?”

Ron was surprised for a moment before he stood, pointing a finger. “See, Harry? He just admitted it!”

“That there is something in my life I would like to keep private, yes. It is absolutely none of your business. I have done nothing to you, Ronald. I know how you feel about my father, and believe me, you are not alone in that. Hate him all you want, I really couldn’t care. But _I_ have done nothing. I am not my father. I put up with your ugly looks and hateful words, quite frankly I find it amusing, but you will not invade my privacy.”

Ron was red in the face, anger and distrust so strong, Draco had to rebuild his shields. “I don’t trust you. I think you’re using Dumbledore, and I think you’re using Harry!”

At that, Draco stood, too, and he felt his magic tingle, accidentally pushing it out as a warning, and he could tell by Ron’s face that Ron felt it. Hagrid spoke before anything more could happen. “Enough! Ron, yer out o’ line.”

“Me? I’m out of line?”

“He said enough,” Draco answered. He turned towards Hagrid. “Thank you for having me, but I think it’s best if I go.”

Without another word, Draco left. He didn’t know when he started feeling anger instead of hurt over things like that (most people didn’t trust him because of his surname), but it wasn’t working to his advantage.

“Draco!” Harry called. Draco paused, halfway to the castle, and allowed Harry to catch up. “I’m sorry, Draco.”

Draco held up his hand. “Don’t apologize for him, Harry. It’s okay. I’m used to it.”

“You shouldn’t have to be!” Harry argued. “It’s unfair! You’re one of the nicest people I’ve met. I can’t believe anybody would compare you to your father.”

Draco shrugged, taking a breath. “Don’t worry about it, Harry, please. And for the record, Dumbledore is giving me lessons. My father doesn’t even know about them. If he did, he’d throw a fit.”

He felt Harry’s righteous anger start to ebb with curiosity. “Lessons?” he asked.

Draco raised a brow at him. “I really do like my privacy, you know.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Harry shook his head. “I trust you, Draco. Ron will come around. He's really pretty great, you know.”

“I'm sure he is,” Draco sighed. “Go back, have your tea, enjoy the company. I’m going to go… cool off.”

Harry nodded, and Draco felt him watch Draco walk away.

*~*~*~*

Apparently, Harry had told Ron that Draco told him what his weekly meetings with Dumbledore were, and as punishment, refused to tell Ron. Unfortunately, they led to public discussions and therefore, for his Ravenclaw friends to learn of it. He was at least thankful they didn’t learn of the ‘lessons’ part of it, or they would bother him nonstop until Draco confessed what secret knowledge Dumbledore was passing on. Instead, they simply accepted that Draco met Dumbledore once a week, most likely thinking it was for tea.

The confrontation at Hagrid’s hut seemed to have made Harry more protective of Draco, and the more Draco kept defending Ron (desperately not wanting to come between two friends), the angrier Harry got at Ron. Eventually, Ron, who clearly didn’t want to lose a friend, came to Draco before Herbology and apologized. His heart wasn’t in it, but Draco accepted just for the peace. Which, after all, was the only reason why Ron apologized in the first place.

The weeks went on, and McGonagall was very pleased with his progress. As was Dumbledore. Dumbledore predicted that at the end of the year, Draco would be able to start attempting to cast Legilimency and offered Draco Sunday night lessons to learn more Occlumency, which Draco naturally accepted.

The best part of his Empath lessons was that he and his godfather were bonding some. They had never been closer. Severus was beginning to feel more comfortable around Draco, willing to let his own emotions flow without shielding them. Likewise, Draco felt comfortable enough to tell his godfather about his fears and anxieties caused by the Incident. Their lessons were part meditation and centering and part therapy. Severus greatly encouraged Draco’s study into the human mind and mostly had Draco come to his own conclusions and analysis of himself.

Draco also couldn’t imagine him and Cove having a closer bond as well. He began practicing the spells they were learning in their classes wordlessly. McGonagall had noticed and informed the Headmaster, who then wanted a demonstration.

“It is very unique, Draco,” Dumbledore told him. “I suspect if you had any other wand, you wouldn’t be able to cast wordlessly. You have incredible potential.”

The drawback was that he was beginning to get noticed by other teachers and students as well. Terry merrily reported he overheard a bunch of third-year Gryffindors talking about his eyes, claiming he must be a wizard reincarnated. Rumors began to spread a little about him. Mostly they were harmless, such as the only reason he was in Ravenclaw instead of Slytherin was that there was a God because if he was a Slytherin, he would probably grow up to be another Dark Lord. In response, the Slytherins, mostly his old childhood connections, began spreading rumors that he was a push-over and nerd and that if it wasn’t for his smarts, he would be in Hufflepuff. It did become quickly apparent, though, that if one didn’t want to be hexed, one would not repeat those rumors with Pansy around.

Draco mostly paid them no mind until one day, he was searching the shelves in the library and overheard a group of Gryffindors.

“Give it a rest, Ron,” he heard Harry groan.

“He’s right, though,” he heard whom he thought was named Neville Longbottom. “I saw him when he was at St. Mungo’s. He screamed a lot.”

“All I’m saying is that no one knows what happened. My dad searched their mansion after it happened and found some Dark artifacts. The Malfoys only said he got a hold of one, and it did something, but Dad always said that the damage done to him couldn’t have just been from _one_ item.”

“His friends in Slytherin always talk about how he changed after that,” a boy’s voice he didn’t recognize added.

“Give it rest, all of you. There’s nothing wrong with Draco.”

“I don’t know, mate,” the voice said again. “His eyes. They just don’t fit, y’know?”

“So,” Harry barked. “Look at my scar! That just doesn’t fit either!”

“We’re not saying _you’re_ like him, Harry.”

“Well, I am! Draco and I were both affected by Dark Magic, but we’re both good people. So, shut up already.”

“Come on, Harry, think about it. Why else do you think Dumbledore is keeping a close eye on him?” Ron asked.

“He isn’t!”

“Then what’s with the meetings, huh?”

“I told you he told me what they were. It isn’t my secret to share.”

“Enough,” Draco said, stepping out from the shelves.

The four Gryffindors jumped, all of them paling at having been caught.

“I’m sorry my eyes scare you, and I’m sorry you’re so jealous of my magical skill and talents that you have to excuse your incompetence away by classifying me Dark.” He glared hard at Ron. “There are only two things you need to know, Weasley. You are petty, pathetic, and too much of a gossip for your own good, and you are also rude, hateful, and cruel for openly discussing a childhood trauma of someone else and using it as an excuse tarnish his name and try to turn his friends against him. Grow up, or you’ll eventually isolate yourself by being an insufferable prat.”

This time instead of leaving, he stood his ground, watching Ron go different shades of red as the silence stretched.

“He’s kind of right,” the boy Draco didn’t know eventually said. “I’m sorry, Malfoy.”

“Yeah,” said Neville. “Me too.”

Ron crossed his arms, “You’re so closed off, Malfoy. If you would just _tell_ us what you’re – “

“You haven’t earned the right to know anything about me, Weasley. You were openly hostile towards me before you even knew me. You still are at the worst, and quietly seethe with disgust and dislike at the best. You’ve never given me the opportunity to remotely feel as though you would be someone I would wish to confide in. I don’t need your friendship, Weasley.”

He turned to leave, but then stopped when a thought occurred to him.

“You know what, one last thing,” he glared. “You walk around slandering my name, telling anyone who will listen that I am some untrustworthy, pureblood bigot, but the only person I’ve seen be prejudice is _you_.”

With that, he did take his leave, foregoing why he was in the library in the first place and made a beeline to Ravenclaw Tower, hardly even noticing the stairs.

*~*~*~*

Ron attempted to approach him the next day, but Draco wasn’t having any of it. He told Ron to leave him the hell alone and overheard Harry telling Ron he didn’t blame Draco.

The worst part about it, though, was that it hurt. The damn Weasley actually managed to hurt his feelings. Severus, observant as always, seemed to realize the cause of Draco’s sadden mood, and it was reported back to him by Hermione that Severus was particularly hard on the Weasley in class. That was when Draco confided that Severus was, as rumors said, his godfather. Hermione seemed incredibly torn, obviously wanting to be angry at Ron on Draco’s behave and excuse Severus’ actions (part of which lost Gryffindor twenty-five whole points), and wanting to defend her friend. He assured Hermione that he, at least, was mature enough not to let conflict with one person affect his relationship with their mutual friends. He also promised to talk to Severus.

“He was cruel,” she conceded. They were in the library on a Sunday afternoon. They often liked to meet there as not many students were going join them. Even his Ravenclaw friends usually reserved Sunday afternoons for non-school things.

“I know he can be. I promise, though, most of that is just an act.”

“Doesn’t seem like it,” she said bluntly, one finger keeping her place in her Potions book while recording a passage in her notes.

“His foot gives him away.”

“What?” she frowned, looking up, though he kept his eyes on the essay he was writing.

“His foot. If he’s actually angry, his left foot taps.”

“Oh.” She said. “Like a tell? Does he have any more?”

Draco smirked. “Yes.”

“But you won’t tell me?” she asked flatly.

“Severus being threatening is like his security blanket. I won’t take that away from him. You’ll learn his ‘tells’ overtime.”

He noticed she didn’t go back to her notes, and after a moment, he finally looked up. She was looking at him thoughtfully. “You really are mature, you know.”

Draco shrugged.

“It’s refreshing, to be honest.”

“Isn’t it?” he agreed, smiling at her. He knew most people found Hermione annoying, and he saw where others were coming from. Yet, she was sensible and genuinely goodhearted. She didn’t express herself well, but like Severus being threatening, her retreating into a ‘know-it-all’ mode was her own security blanket.

Monday night, he made good on his promise to Hermione and attempted to talk to Severus about Ron.

“Weasley is a rash moron,” Severus argued.

“I agree,” Draco nodded. “But he isn’t the only one. Just… please don’t target people on my behalf. It’ll only make things worse.”

Severus considered him for a moment, then elegantly side-stepped Draco’s request by stating, “You’re good friends with Potter, I’ve noticed.”

This wasn’t the first time Severus tried talking to Draco about Harry. For what felt like the millionth time, he said, “And I will continue to be unless you can give me a valid reason to reconsider.”

Severus huffed. “Let’s begin our lesson.”

Afterwards, as Draco made his way back to the dorms, Draco was relaxed enough to think about Ron more compassionately. Hermione’s words _‘You really are mature, you know’_ came to him with a pinch of guilt.

The Incident did leave Draco mentally and emotionally older than even most adults he knew. For example, Severus and his ridiculous grudge against an eleven-year-old Potter. Draco gathered over the years that Severus had school-boy enemies. He had also gathered that Harry’s parents must have been some of them, but he couldn’t imagine a reason why Severus would take it out on Harry.

Ron, however, made more sense. He was taking out his father’s adulthood enemies on someone his own age. He knew of his father’s influence, knew how much his father hated Mr. Weasley, and could only imagine what hardship his father could have brought on the Weasleys over the years. Not to mention, the ‘nicer’ Draco became, the less inclined he was toward the Darks and magic in general, the more his father would boast about Draco’s cunning, ability, and was going to be the Slytherin Prince, to overcompensate. That was probably Ron’s only impression of Draco.

Draco mostly ignored him, thinking that would be best. That eventually, Ron would notice Draco wasn’t any of those things, but thinking from Ron’s point of view, limited with Ron’s experience and age, Draco’s Empathy pulled at him to forgive and make amends.

He decided by the next morning that he was going to ask for a private word and try to clear the air with Ron as best he could.

That plan went out the window that evening when, as he was on his way to McGonagall’s office for his Tuesday lesson, he saw a crying Hermione desperately trying to flee to somewhere secluded.

“Hermione!” he called out, lowing his shields. He was hit with sorrow, humiliation, and rage.

She was pushing her way into a girl’s toilet and jumped when he called, spinning to watch him run to her.

“D-Draco?”

“What’s wrong?” he asked, stepping closer to her than usual, but making sure to give her room at the same time.

Tears streamed down her face as she made an angry _‘oooh!’_ sound, stomping her foot. “I don’t know what his problem is!” she yelled. “I was only trying to _h-help!”_

“Whose problem?”

“Ronald Weasley, of course,” she snorted, rolling her eyes and wiping one side of her face on her sleeve.

“What did he do?” Draco growled.

“Nothing,” she sniffed. “Just… forget it.” She spun back around and ran into the toilet. Draco wanted to follow, but he heard other girls’ voices and thought it best not to push. He was going to be late for McGonagall, and he didn’t need to embarrass himself or Hermione by stalking the girls’ room.

He was so distracted with worry for Hermione that by the time he arrived at McGonagall's, he misjudged the first step of the three down into her office and tripped, fell, and rolled, bashing right into the chair in front of her desk.

He groaned and sat up.

“Quite an entrance,” McGonagall said from above him. “Are you alright?”

“Who knows,” he moaned, rubbing his shoulder.

She squatted in front of him, waving her wand over him a couple of time, then said, “You’re fine, Mr. Malfoy.” She helped him up and into his chair.

Draco sensed her walk around her desk and sit down, and she respectively gave him a few minutes to roll his shoulders and ankles, getting back to himself and getting comfortable.

When he looked back up at her, clearly ready, she asked, “So, Draco… What magic did I use to check you over?”

He sighed and closed his eyes, attempting to remember what he sensed and trying to pick up any residue leftovers. At a full two minutes, he sighed again, his shoulders slumping. “I don’t know, ma’am.”

She surveyed him. “You seem preoccupied.”

“I am, ma’am.”

She nodded, leaning back. “You are usually more focused because of your mediations with Professor Snape Monday nights.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Would you like to talk about whatever has happened today, or would you prefer twenty minutes of meditation?”

He thought about it for a moment, about how meditation led to him forgiving Ron the night before, about Hermione’s tears.

“Perhaps both,” he admitted.

She raised her eyebrows in surprised and motioned for him to continue.

“See… There’s this one student… He’s, well, been a pain. And he hurt my feelings last week. Last night, though, after Severus’, uh, Professor Snape’s lesson, I felt centered and clear-headed. I thought about it, thought about our ages and parents, and realized I shouldn’t take his words so personally.”

“That’s very mature of you,” she pointed out.

Draco tried to smile. “I get that a lot. But I don’t particularly want to be mature right now.”

“And why, may I ask, is that?”

“Because on the way here, I ran into a friend of mine crying because of him.”

McGonagall took a breath and leveled him with an understanding smile. “Take it from someone who was also mature for her age… It’s difficult to balance a sound mind and emotions – at any age. You are entitled to your emotions. Emotions are neither right nor wrong. They simply are. They exist. Mostly to tell us something.”

“You sound like Severus,” he found himself smiling.

“Professor Snape,” she corrected gently. “If I do sound like him, however, I wish he would follow his own advice…”

Draco smiled wider.

“In any case, maturity doesn’t have to mean continually to understand and forgive. Your Empathy may try to push you towards that, but you should recognize your own emotions and give them the validation they deserve. Take, for example, we both are missing the Halloween feast…”

“Maybe not all of it,” he pointed out.

“Exactly. I’m sure we both hope to finish before it’s over. If we don’t, I’m sure we’ll both be disappointed. Neither of us blames the other for missing it if we do, nor would have to talk ourselves out of disappointment. It will simply exist, and it will be there to tell us that we enjoy those things and help remind us the next time an opportunity like it comes up, ensuring we go. How you feel right now serves a similar purpose. You’re angry towards this boy because this boy is doing hateful things to you and people you care about. Your anger is telling you that it isn’t okay, and you wish for it to stop. There is no reason to rid yourself of that emotion altogether, Mr. Malfoy. Allow it to exist, and use this as practice as an Empath to compartmentalize it.”

Draco thought that over then smiled thankfully at McGonagall. “Thank you.”

“Of course,” she said. “Now, take ten minutes, center yourself, then we will begin.”

Draco nodded and closed his eyes, relaxing back in his chair and emptying his thoughts.

He inhaled for four beats, held it for four beats, then exhaled in four beats. He repeated that until he felt his heartbeat was steady and even. Next, he practiced Mindfulness. Usually, Severus had him practicing with the first step, what he sees, which would come in handy when in public. Skipping the step of finding and focusing on five things he saw, he focused on the next step: four things he heard. The crackling of the fireplace, a scratch of McGonagall’s quill, the soft wind outside the window, the small sounds of the candles. Next, three things he felt: the wooden chair underneath him, the warmth of the fire… the socks around his feet. Next, two things he smelt: the fire again, and his own shampoo. Finally, one thing he could taste: a bit of staleness from having his mouth closed for so long.

Feeling calmer, more grounded, more focus, he opened his eyes and mouth to let McGonagall know he was ready.

An alarm from her fireplace cut him off.

Both he and the professor jumped.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“A code orange,” she answered, looking more serious than he had yet to see her. “Quickly, go to your dorm. Keep your shields down,” she began to instruct, moving to the door with him following. “If you hear, see, or _sense_ anything, duck and hide, keep quiet, and keep yourself open. Review any protective spells you know. Be careful, and immediately report to a Prefect. I _will_ come back to make sure you did as you were told.”

Out of her office, McGonagall power walked away, and Draco watched her go.

This wasn’t good.

Draco hugged himself, thankful he didn’t have his things with him and very carefully began heading toward Ravenclaw Tower. He wouldn’t worry, tried telling himself not to, but all he could think about was Fluffy. Was he loose? He thought about Fluffy at least once a day and the ridiculous idea of him being in the castle, but he kind of trusted Hagrid and did trust Dumbledore. They wouldn’t let something like that _inside_ the school without making sure it was safe, surely.

Furthermore, McGonagall said code _orange_. She entrusted him to get to safety on his own. However, It did stand to reason that if Hagrid named something so sweet Fang, it would mean something named Fluffy would be the opposite. But how could someone who owned Fang own something actually worthy of the name Fang? No, he wasn’t in danger, surely.

Just when he started to relax, he felt something.

Freezing in fear, Draco pushed out his magical senses as McGonagall was teaching him and was able to assess it was a type of magic he didn’t recognize. Cove didn’t trust it.

He crouched a little, making himself smaller and hugging the wall. He slowly moved forward, ready to turn right at the end of the corridor instead of left where the unknown magic was. It made for a longer route to the Tower, but who the hell cared?

At the end of the hall, however, he sensed something else.

Emotions.

Particularly, one emotion: crippling fear. The source wasn’t coming from the unknown magic.

Obeying his orders, he dove behind a statue to hide, kept himself quiet, and pushed his Empathy out.

The fear was entangled with a magic he recognized but couldn’t pinpoint. He was just about to figure out how it all related to him and his safety when the fear tripled, accompanied by a strong guilt and chivalry, of all things.

He gulped and tried to focus harder.

He spent several moments in denial until Cove pushed the truth on him.

The unknown magic was threatening the first fear. The second two fears were two people coming to protect the first. He tried to reason that meant everything was under control, but the chivalry died out quickly, closely followed by the guilt, and all that was left was mostly fear and a very small determination, most likely the determination of just one person.

The unknown magic was growing.

“Harry!” he heard the unmistakable voice of Ron call out.

Ron. His anger was almost evenly matched with Cove’s. Ron – _Weasley –_ had gotten Harry into trouble.

“I won’t forgive you this time, Weasley,” he snarled as he shot out from his hiding spot and ran towards the commotion, using mostly his Empathy to guide him.

He found himself in the doorway of some toilet. Hermione was on one side, back straight against the wall and ghostly white. Ron was pressed against the opposite wall, also white but was obviously trying to figure out what to do. Harry, on the other hand, was on some creature’s back as it thrashed.

What kind of…

Troll.

Harry was battling a _troll_???

The troll got the upper-hand, gripping Harry around the ankle and flinging him upside down. It lifted its club, aiming at Harry with a deafening roar, and Cove jumped into his hand without assistance. He pointed his wand at the troll’s face and yelled, “ _IMMOBULUS!”_ pushing out as much magic as he could.

The troll froze on the spot, club above its head, and dropped Harry. Draco flung a “ _Spongify!”_ on the tiles just a split-second before Harry landed on them as the troll fell backward into a line of stalls and the wall. The wall cracked ominously as water spewed out of the now broke toilets.

Wishing he could remember a spell to cast tight ropes around the troll and bind him, Draco ran over to Harry, helping him up.

“Draco?” he coughed.

“Harry,” Draco said, his own voice cracking. Draco quickly looked over at Hermione who was staring wide-eyed from the troll to Ron, to Harry and Draco, and back. “Hermione,” he called. “Are you okay?” he asked the room in general, flicking his wrist to send Cove back in its sheath.

Before anyone could answer, Professor McGonagall and Severus ran into the room. With them came _more_ fear, as well as shock, anger, protectiveness, disbelief, and a small hint of suspicion. It was enough to make Draco stumble back, shaking.

“What is the meaning of this?” Severus snarled.

“Mr. Malfoy!” McGonagall yelled in turn.

Draco gripped a broken sink, vaguely aware it was cutting his hand.

“Explain yourselves,” McGonagall demanded. Anger and a mix of protective fear began to radiate intensely off the two professors as Harry, Ron, and Hermione’s fear began to twist into anxiety and a renewed fear from the brief relief they had felt.

“Please, Professor, it was my fault,” Hermione spoke up. Draco’s head began to pound, his heart rate was picking up. He gripped the sink harder, trying to focus. “I… I went looking for the troll. I’ve read all about them and thought I could take it –“

“Bullshit,” Draco gritted out.

“Draco!” Severus snapped.

“Don’t, both of you,” Draco demanded. He shut his eyes tight, now trying to deal with a whole new flow of emotions he couldn’t even parse through hitting him full-blast, not to mention the smell of the troll was catching up to him. He squinted back at the professors. “Is this the girls’ toilet?”

Both professors looked confused. Severus nodded.

“Hermione, don’t try to cover for whatever stupid thing Weasley did. Or Harry.” He squeezed his eyes against _more_ emotions. “All I know is,” he took a deep breath. He felt Cove trying to help, but unfortunately, it wasn’t working. “Hermione came in here earlier because she was upset. I saw her on my way to Professor McGonagall’s office. I was there when the alarm came.” He opened his eyes again, focused on McGonagall. “I did as you asked. I felt an unknown magic and hid. But then I felt someone’s fear. Then more fear, and guilt and something else. I heard Weasley yelling Harry’s name. I’m sorry, Professor, I couldn’t stay hidden.”

Feeling a bit more in control, he stood straighter. Finally, Cove was helping build some kind of shield. His arm felt like it was on fire, though, from Cove’s effort. He knew he was sweating from the heat. He looked around the room, noting Hermione’s shock and embarrassment, Harry’s frown, and Ron’s all-out paled and jolted expression.

“Obviously,” he continued, now looking at Severus. “Hermione was already in here. I can vouch for that. I came here at the end. As for the middle, I don’t know. But I don’t think either Harry,” he pointedly narrowed his eyes just a second to remind Severus they disagreed on all points Potter, “nor Weasley would go troll hunting. This all has a perfectly innocent, even if it’s not logical, explanation. Also, I cast _Immbolous_. I don’t think mine is strong enough to hold long.”

Both professors pointed their wands at the troll and cast the same spell, for insurance, then turned back to the children.

“Well?” McGonagall demanded of the other two Gryffindors.

Cove’s shields weren’t lasting. Draco tried to readjust his stance, leaning his hip against the broken sink still spewing water behind him. He realized he was wet. His absolute pounding headache took more of his concern though. He tried to focus on building his own shields, but it was more difficult than it had ever been. He focused on a spot on the ground as Harry spoke, “We didn’t do it on purpose, I swear. Draco’s right, we weren’t… troll hunting or whatever. We overheard at dinner that Hermione was in here crying. Everyone was freaking out about the troll, and we realized Hermione didn’t know. There wasn’t a Prefect we could see, so we thought we could run and get her.”

“With the troll?” Severus drawled.

“No, sir. We made it down the hallway, but we saw the troll. It… well, it ducked in here, but we didn’t know what _room_ this was. We snuck around, shut the door and locked it. Look,” he added, “the key’s there! But then we heard screaming, and realized what room it was and came back.”

“It was almost to me,” Hermione said, voice very small. “They saved my life.”

“Draco saved our lives,” Harry amended.

But then, Quirrell came rushing in.

Draco had looked up at the sudden movement and was hit full-force with a strong Dark Magic. Any hopes of a shield crumbled; his mind _burned_. He grabbed his head, only distantly realizing he was _screaming_ , as the room’s emotions invaded him. Cove was scorching his arm, then flashbacks of the Incident began to overcome him.

Desperately flinging for Mindfulness as the only thing he could think of, he felt his side hit something broken, felt his throat burn with his screams, felt his back slam against something hard, and that was it.

Blackness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know how you like this, and if you see any mistakes, feel free to point them out!


	4. Associate with Eagles and Fly to New Heights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sure the timing of the flying lessons is off, but alternate universe, right?

The first thing Draco knew was that he was physically comfortable. Very comfortable, in fact.

The second thing was silence.

Which he was thankful for since the third was how heavy and painful his head was.

He groaned, wrinkling his face.

Taking in what he could, he realized that there were several points in his body that ached, his head felt like it weighed a ton from pain alone, and his mouth was dry.

And Cove was gone.

The realization made his entire mind and body ache more, and it forced him to open his eyes.

It took several minutes to slowly adjust, but eventually, he realized he must have been in the Hospital Wing, and it was daytime.

It took several more minutes to make his throat work, but finally, he shouted, “Help!”

“Oh, dear!” came a voice with running footsteps.

“Please. My head.”

The footsteps softened immediately. He closed his eyes again before a gentle hand lifted his head and someone helped him drink many things – potions no doubt.

They took effect very quickly. His headache was dimmed significantly, his body felt better, and he was able to open his eyes fully and sit up.

“There now,’’ said a witch in white robes.

“Who are you?” he asked. He felt better, but his voice reflected just how weak he was.

“I’m Madam Pomfrey. You’re in the Hospital Wing, dear. How are you feeling?”

“As the muggles would say,” he stated, swallowing and licking his dry lips. “I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.”

Madam Pomfrey smiled kindly and nodded. “I’ll go inform the Headmaster you’re awake.”

“Wait,” Draco frowned. “Inform who you must, but please inform your patient first.” She looked confused, so he added, “What happened? How am I? What day is it? You know, the things most people who wake up randomly in a Hospital Wing _need_ to know. I know I’m young, ma’am, but I would think I have a right to know.” He knew he was being rude, but he didn’t much care.

She had the good grace to look a little guilty but also impressed. “Right. Forgive me, Mr. Malfoy. What is the last you remember?”

“A big, smelly troll.”

“Right. Good. A troll found its way into the school. You and a few other students helped stopped it, but you took the worst injury. You’ve only been out about sixteen hours now. I took care of your cuts and bruises, but your magic is strong and apparently doesn’t like other magic being performed on you while you’re unconscious. You’ll feel fit as a fiddle within the next ten minutes, I think. Also,” she added, reaching next to him to grab something from a bedside table then holding out his wand. “You aren’t the first I’ve met who has a protective wand, but you are definitively the most memorable.”

Draco took Cove back gratefully. The reconnection soothed the rest of his aches and worries. He could feel Cove’s annoyance at the woman and smiled as he watched her leave the room.

Honestly, the last thing he remembered was someone entering the room and then pain. A pain he had hoped he would never feel again. He felt like its magical properties were familiar, but he also knew he had been working hard at recognizing different magical elements lately, it could have just been similar to something he had come across since start of term. Especially since his Empathy was on extreme.

Not having his sheath anywhere around that he could see, he sat up further, tucked Cove underneath the hideous Hospital Wing clothes, and laid his forearm across his stomach to encourage skin contact.

It wasn’t long before Severus and Dumbledore came marching into the room.

“Draco,” Severus said, coming to stand by him. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine, now. What happened?”

“From what we can gather,” Dumbledore said kindly, standing at the foot of his bed, “your Empathy was on high alert, and when Professor Quirrell came in, his added fear was too much for you.”

Draco frowned. So, Quirrell was who came in. But… “Professor Quirrell wasn’t afraid.”

“Are you sure?” Severus asked.

“Yes, Draco, please tell us what you remember.”

Draco rubbed his eyes, thinking back. “The troll, of course. Then Professor McGonagall and Severus came in. There were a lot of emotions…” He shook his head then looked at his godfather. “Then someone came in and… It was magic. Familiar, I think, but to what?” He shrugged. “It was overwhelming.”

Severus was studying him sharply, but Dumbledore seemed better at keeping his expression cleared. Draco wanted to put down his shields to tell what the Headmaster was feeling, but it seemed Cove had better ideas and was firming keeping Draco away from outside stimulants.

Neither men said anything, however. They fussed over him a little before Madam Pomfrey shooed them away and examined him. He was allowed to leave some time later. Classes were in session, but he was granted permission to miss them and go to the Tower instead.

He put his wand sheath back on and change into soft trousers and a sweater. His headache was fully gone now, and he felt fine. Just mostly confused. He would have to wait until dinner to interrogate why in the world Harry would have gone after a troll, as well as ask around why the hell a troll was in the school. As far as Quirrell went, he was the DADA professor, after all. Perhaps he had built up a bunch of magic to fight the troll? Or maybe he had some kind of magical troll-fighting object with him.

That seemed to be the best explanation, so Draco took the opportunity of the Tower being empty to practice meditation in the common room, centering himself and leveling all emotion. He sunk down into himself, peaceful, and fully relaxed.

*~*~*~*

The Great Hall was loud and noisy as always. According to the whispers he heard on his way down, the troll seemed to be the hot topic of conversation. It would seem everyone was under the impression that Harry Potter had slain the troll, saving them all.

He smiled. He was more than happy to let the school think that.

“Draco!” Terry called, waving him over.

He quickly made his way to his friends and sat beside Terry, Anthony and Michael on the other side of the table.

“Is it true? Did the troll attack you?” Terry asked immediately.

“Hardly,” Draco snorted. “Harry, Hermione, and Weasley were fighting the troll when I stumbled upon them. I tried to help, but it didn’t work too well.”

His friends snickered. “Don’t feel too bad, mate,” Anthony said, clapping his arm that rested on the table. “Save the heroism for the Gryffindors.”

“Yeah,” Michael agreed. “What were you doing, anyway? Why weren’t you at the feast?”

“I was in the library,” Draco lied easily. “I was on my way to the feast when everyone came running out. Was just trying to find my way to the Tower.”

“Bad luck,” Terry said solemnly. “Still trying to find a quicker route?”

“Of course,” Draco rolled his eyes. Attempting to find a ‘quicker route’ and getting lost had become his worn excuse for getting back to the dorms late after an Empathy lesson. “If I knew there was a troll about, I wouldn’t have bothered.”

“Must have been a nasty surprise,” Anthony laughed.

They changed the subject to theories on how the troll got in, and Draco looked around for Harry. He needn’t have looked hard. Harry was already watching him, concern plastered all over his face.

“I’ll be right back,” he told his Ravenclaws and went over to Harry.

“Draco, thank goodness,” Hermione cried, throwing herself up and into Draco’s arms. “We were so worried.”

“You don’t say,” Draco laughed, hugging her back. “Relax, Hermione, I’m just fine.”

“What happened?” Harry asked, standing by his side now.

“I was going to ask you the same question,” he said, gesturing for them to sit back down. He joined, sitting between them, not really caring for the odd looks the others at the table were giving him.

“You looked and sounded like you were in a lot of pain,” Hermione rushed. “At first I thought maybe you overdid it, taking out the troll, but then Professor Quirrell came in, and you started…” She trailed off, giving Harry a nervous glance.

“I started what?” Draco prompted.

“Screaming,” Harry provided.

“Oh…” Draco frowned down at the plate in front of him. He screamed?

“You were clutching your head,” Hermione whispered. “Professor Snape cast you unconscious or something. McGonagall made us leave and escorted us to our dorms. She wouldn’t tell us anything. When you weren’t at breakfast, we went looking for you, but Madam Pomfrey said you weren’t allowed visitors. You really scared us.”

Draco tried to give her a reassuring smile, but then a voice from across the table cut in. “Yeah. We all were.”

Draco looked over to see Ron, frowning and looking genuinely worried.

“Thanks for saving us,” Ron added. “You were really amazing.”

Recognizing an olive branch when he saw one, Draco nodded to Ron, relaxing a little. “Thanks. Please, don’t any of you worry. I’m fine.” Looking back at Harry, he said, “What were you guys thinking, anyway?”

“We weren’t really,” Harry smiled, just a little. “No telling what would have happened if you didn’t show up.”

“Yeah, about that,” Hermione cut in. “You told McGonagall you… _felt_ a strange magic and felt our fear?”

He saw only curiosity on her face, and Draco wanted to tell them. He trusted Hermione and Harry to keep the secret, but not Ron. If it got around the school, his father would be furious. So, he shrugged and said, “It sounded good at the time.”

That seemed to punch a laugh out of Harry and Ron, but Hermione’s expression turned suspicious. He tried to subtly shake his head, letting her know to drop it. She seemed to understand, and Draco was saved by Harry asking, “So what did happen?”

“I heard Ron yelling your name. There was obviously an emergency going on, so I went to check it out. Didn’t expect a bloody _troll_ ,” he rolled his eyes. “I think I did overdo it trying to take it out. Professor Quirrell must have had something to stop the troll with him or something. I just got… um, overwhelmed,” he finished lamely.

“Overwhelmed?” Harry cocked a brow. “Draco… you were screaming.”

Knowing when to show his hand, Draco leaned close to Harry and whispered in his ear. “You know I went through some things when I was younger. It just sort of… brought it back.”

Harry made a noise of surprise and quickly nodded his head. “Oh. Yeah. Of course.”

“What?” Ron and Hermione asked.

“Nothing,” Harry answered for him. “Just let it be.”

Ron huffed and crossed his arms, but Hermione looked thoughtful.

“Oi!” Terry shouted, getting their attention. “Just because you fight trolls with Gryffindors doesn’t mean you are one! Come back and eat!”

Draco laughed. Terry always had a way of making him feel lighter. “See you guys,” he told the others as he got up. He took back his rightful place at the Ravenclaw table.

*~*~*~*

Other than an extremely long letter from his mother both reprimanding and praising him over the troll, everything settled down. The experience seemed to force Ron to grow up a little, and he became a lot friendlier to both Draco and Hermione. Most afternoons Draco found himself in a big group consisting of himself, Terry, Anthony, Michael, Hermione, Ron, and Harry. With the attitude dropped, Ron got on really well with his fellow Ravenclaws. However, it would seem nothing was ever going to stop Ron from complaining about school work. The more he complained, the less the Ravenclaws helped him. Harry seemed to figure this out quickly, ceasing most of his complaints, and they all would laugh loudly when Ron’s complaints grew to them liking Harry better.

A week passed, and they had their first flying lesson with the Hufflepuffs, which was fun. Most of the students already knew how to fly, and by the end, Madam Hooch wasn’t needed as the students taught each other, which was common when the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs took a lesson together.

At dinner that night, however, they learned the Gryffindor/Slytherin lesson didn’t go quite like their own.

“Did you hear?” Terry asked excitedly as he sat down, dropping a large tome on the table making several plates and glasses shake.

“Hear what?” Anthony asked, moving plates away from the tome.

“Apparently, Longbottom had an accident during their flying lesson and needed to go to the Hospital Wing. But he left his stuff, right? So, the Slytherins started to try to prank him or something. Well, Harry got involved to stop them, naturally. One thing led to another, and Harry’s the new Gryffindor Seeker!”

“What?” Draco, Michael, Anthony asked together.

“How does one thing lead to _that?_ ” Draco asked.

Terry shrugged. “Something about the Slytherins tossing Longbottom’s things from up high and Harry catching them.”

“Oh,” the three boys answered.

“That makes sense,” Michael said.

“He must be very good,” Anthony observed, craning his neck to see over at the Gryffindor table. People were surrounding Harry excitedly. Harry, for his part, looked a little embarrassed but equally excited.

Harry caught the four boys looking and beamed at them, waving. They waved back.

“Well,” Michael said as they turned back to their meal, “that means Gryffindor is either going to be very easy to beat, or very hard.”

“Does it matter, really?” Anthony asked. “The Cup is always either Gryffindor’s or Slytherin’s. I sometimes feel like Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff are just filler Houses.”

“Eh,” Draco wrinkled his nose. “Let them have the attention. My father is always talking about his Hogwarts glory days, like he’s stuck in the past. I’d rather not hit my prime yet, thank you very much.”

The others laughed. “I know what you mean,” Terry said. “My mother was a Gryffindor. To hear her speak, what House you’re in defines who you are. Plain and simple as that.”

“A ridiculous notion,” Michael snorted. “It’s fun to laugh at and analyze, but in practice, people are just people.”

“I agree,” Draco and Anthony said at the same time.

Regardless of their personal thoughts, however, the next couple of weeks were alive with excitement over the upcoming Gryffindor/Slytherin match. Harry seemed to have Quidditch practice every night, and though he looked bone-tired in class, he was clearly enjoying himself.

On the morning of the game, Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs ran back and forth from their tables, making bets and predictions. At one point, a petition (no doubt started by the Slytherins) came around demanding either the rule that First Years couldn’t try out be broken or Harry get thrown off the team. Draco could understand the unfairness and favoritism of allowing Harry to play. He kind of wanted to sign it. He couldn’t bring himself to, though. Harry was his friend, and he was obviously having the time of his life.

Even if that particular morning Harry looked like he was going to be sick.

Bundled in their scarfs, the four Ravenclaws climbed the stands and eagerly awaited the game. Draco had to draw a little on Cove’s power to make sure his shields were firmly in place. His professors gave him a week off of his Empath lessons after the whole troll debacle, but he was still a little worse for the wear.

“GO HARRY!” they yelled as the Gryffindor team walked onto the field. Terry wolf whistled, catching Harry’s attention. He gave them an awkward wave, which just served to make the four of them yell louder, purposely trying to embarrass him. It worked.

“And they’re off!” came the voice of Lee Jorden, a popular Gryffindor who was acting as the commentator.

The Slytherins were being vicious, as predicted. It seemed they were out for blood. If it weren’t for the Weasley Beaters, Draco was sure at least one of the Gryffindor Chasers would be out for the count.

“How are the teachers allowing this?” Michael asked after a Slytherin Chaser grabbed hold of a Gryffindor Chaser’s head.

“Well, they aren’t, are they?” Anthony pointed out. “Madam Hooch keeps trying to stop them.”

“I wonder if she leaves it at penalties, or if she’ll start handing out detention,” Draco mused.

The crowd started getting rowdier, and after a moment, the boys began catching on that it wasn’t the usual rowdiness.

“What’s going on?” Draco asked.

“Harry Potter!” he heard someone yell.

Craning his neck, he searched for Harry and immediately found him barely hanging on to his broom which seemed to be trying to knock him off.

“What in the world?” Michael cried.

Draco frowned, studying the broom. It definitely wasn’t acting like a normal broom, clearly. There had to be an outside influence on it. He twitched his wrist, and Cove fell smoothly down in his hand. Subtly pointing his wand at Harry, he cast a small revealing spell. Hex. Someone was hexing the broom.

Before Draco could decide what to do, or if he could do anything, he felt the hex suddenly being ripped from the broom, and it settled. Harry was able to climb back on, and he took off with purpose.

“The Snitch!” Michael yelled.

Harry seemed to have lost his balance, however, because he tipped forward and fell.

“Merlin!” Terry cried. “Good thing he was already near the ground!”

“You aren’t kidding!” Michael replied

Draco watched, thoughtful, as Harry stood and looked like he was about to hurl. A few heaves, then something fell out of his mouth.

The Snitch.

Harry beamed and thrust his hand into the air, presenting their victory.

“Are you serious?” Terry asked.

“Well, that was anticlimactic,” Anthony sighed.

Everyone in the stands cheered except for the Slytherins who booed and outraged. After a victory lap around the field, the Gryffindor team landed and began to make their way off the field as students filed out of the stands. Draco purposely held back, telling the others he wanted to check on Harry. Which he did, but he also needed a moment. He was still weak from the troll, and the match drained him more than he was expecting.

He found himself remaining in the stands, looking out. It was peaceful once it was emptied. He gazed up at the castle and tried to find which tower, which window, was his.

He didn’t know how long he was out there, but it was long enough that the sun was high in the sky, singling it was afternoon, by the time someone called his name.

Looking down, he found Harry, Ron, and Hermione at the edge of the field, waving him over.

Fully recharged by his morning alone in the stands, Draco smiled and happily made his way to his friends.

“What are you doing here?” Harry asked once he was close enough.

“Just sitting,” Draco answered, shrugging. “Good game, Harry. Creative way to catch the Snitch.”

Harry chuckled, but Hermione and Ron didn’t look too amused.

“We’re on our way to Hagrid’s,” Hermione informed him. “Want to come?”

“Of course,” he agreed.

He was delighted to see Fang again, and Fang was just as delighted back. Draco focused his full attention on the dog, sitting on the floor and loving on him with a smile plastered on his face. Fang rolled onto his back, making small grunt sounds, and wagged his tail as Draco rubbed his belly.

After a while, a very hard, solid flatcake hit him upside the head.

“Hey,” he complained, rubbing where it hit and looking over at the table where Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Hagrid were sitting, staring. “What was that for?”

Harry fondly rolled his eyes, but Hermione sighed exasperatedly. “We were asking you what you thought?”

“About what?”

Ron groaned. “Seriously, mate, how can you zone out like that? Did you even notice what happened to Harry?”

“What, the broom thing?” he asked, patting Fang one last time and standing. He joined the others at the table, nodding thanks to Hagrid who pushed a cup of tea his way.

“The broom thing?” Ron scoffed. “’The broom thing’ he says, like Harry wasn’t just almost killed.”

Draco couldn’t hold back a snort. “He wouldn’t have been killed. There were plenty of teachers there.”

“And if one of the teachers was the one hexing the broom?” Hermione asked hesitantly.

Draco frowned, looking at all of them. He lowered his shields and was hit with fear, suspicion, annoyance, and from Hagrid, a strong sense of doubt. “What do you mean?”

“It was Snape,” Ron said. “He was hexing Harry’s broom.”

“ _What?”_ Draco gaped.

“We saw him,” Hermione added. “He wasn’t breaking eye contact and his lips were moving.”

“That could be anything,” Draco defended.

“The broom only stopped when Hermione set his robes on fire,” Ron said.

“ _What?_ ” he asked again, only this time, Hagrid joined him.

Hermione shrugged, and Draco sensed guilt and accomplishment from her. “Just a little, to distract him.”

“You _just a little_ set his robes on _fire_?” Draco asked incredulously, affronted.

“It was to save Harry!” Ron exclaimed.

“Now, why'd Snape‘ve done it?” Hagrid put in. “He'd ne'er hurt a student.”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione fixed Hagrid with a disbelieving glare.

“Not physically,” Hagrid amended.

“Back up,” Draco demanded and focused on Hermione. “From the beginning, tell me _exactly_ what happened.”

Hermione nodded and straightened. “I knew there were only a few things that could be affecting Harry’s broom like that –“

“All of which would be an external influence,” Draco agreed.

“ – exactly. So, I looked at the stands to see if anyone was exhibiting the signs of casting. That’s how I found Snape. He showed all the signs. I snuck underneath the stands and went to where he was sitting. I set the hems of his robes on fire, forcing him to break eye contact with Harry. It worked. He jumped up and had to stomp the fire out.”

Draco blinked a couple of times, allowing himself to think. The others seemed content to let him do so. Then, “Okay. First of all, that was tremendously stupid of you, not to mention rash. Put aside the fact that you could have been caught – and I’m pretty sure _setting a teacher on fire_ would call for more punishment than just detention, but you could have seriously hurt someone, Hermione.”

“But – “ Ron tried, but Draco shot him a hard, angry glare to cut him off. Anger was coming back from the redhead, but he focused on Hermione’s increasing guilt instead.

“Second, there are literally hundreds of spells and other things you could have done to accomplish the same thing without _fire_. Third, there is also the option of counter-casting at Harry instead of _setting someone on fire_. Which brings me to my fourth, Snape could have very well been attempting to counter the hex himself. Have any of you thought about that?”

“Snape – “ Ron tried again, but Draco, again, cut him off, now focusing on Harry.

“I know Professor Snape can be nasty, but there’s no need to jump to rash, un-thought-out suspicion, Harry. Think about it logically. You were playing against Slytherin, who were already playing dirty. It is far more likely that a Slytherin student was trying to hex you – _especially_ since they’re so angry you’re on the team - and Professor Snape was trying to counter it, than it is for Snape himself to be trying to hex a student. You know Snape favors his House. Of course he would try to secretly counter the hex to stop his student from getting caught, possibly causing Slytherin to forfeit the match if they were.”

He was met with silence for a moment, shame and guilt coming from his fellow students, but the suspicion wasn’t going away. He studied them a moment then narrow his eyes.

“That’s not all, is it?” he asked Harry and Hermione, looking between them. “There’s a reason why you looked at the _teacher’s_ section, Hermione, and not the Slytherin section.”

Hermione nodded, shifting in her seat a little. “Professor Snape just seems to have it out for Harry.”

“He does,” Draco said simply, making the four of them gasp. Draco rolled his eyes and added, “Not like _that_.” He looked back at Harry. “He’s never said, but I get the feeling that he and your parents didn’t get on while they were at school. I think he and your father were, like, schoolboy rivals or something. I know he doesn’t like us being friends, that’s for sure. I think he thinks you’re like your father or something.”

“How do you know?” Harry asked.

Draco sighed, looking down at his tea. It would seem Hermione kept her word that she wouldn’t tell the others about Draco’s relationship with Severus. It was probably time they knew. “He’s my godfather.”

“What?” Ron and Harry asked at the same time.

“He’s my godfather. I’ve known him all my life. Look,” he looked back at a shocked Harry, “I’m sorry. Really. I’ve talked to him about being nicer to you guys, and I’ll talk to him about the game. See what he says. I know he’s… Well, he’s rude, unfair, mean, and quite the arse, but I don’t think he would actively try to physically harm you.”

Harry sighed, shrugging doubtfully. “Maybe.”

“Godfather?” Ron spat. “Of course you’re defending him.”

“Oh, Ronald!” Hermione scolded. “Don’t start! Draco is our friend!” Then to Draco, she added more gently. “Maybe you’re right. Talk to him? Tell us what he says? But…” she looked toward the other boys, to Hagrid, who seemed happy to just observe them, then back to Draco, “But we don’t trust him.”

Draco nodded. “Understandable, Hermione. And you don’t have to trust or like him, or even put up with him, just because of my relation to him. You have a right to your own opinions, guys. Just… maybe don’t, I don’t know, _set someone on fire_.”

“Okay!” Hermione said, face embarrassed, but she still smiled. “I got it. I promise not to set anyone else on fire.”

“Good, and Harry?”

“Yeah?”

“Maybe next time you think someone is trying to kill you, you should inform other adults - not just try to get Hagrid to conspire with you. Especially since Hagrid is obviously just going tell the Headmaster anyway.”

Hagrid laughed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Harry's Side of Things Part 3](https://wcbc.tumblr.com/post/168230345193/the-incident-harrys-side-of-things-part-3)


	5. Eagle's Flight of Loneliness

The rest of term went far too quickly for Draco. He wasn’t sure what would be waiting for him at home, but he didn’t want to find out. He poured himself into his studies and Empathy training.

It was amazing how much better he was after just a few months. Dumbledore had put him to the task of using the psychology he had been learning as well as sensing others’ emotions, and Draco was becoming very good at reading people. Not to mention his Occlumency lessons were teaching him how to compartmentalize so much better than he could do before. McGonagall had begun teaching him more about projecting magic and how to use his own magic to alter leftover magical energy left on an object. (Even though he hadn't been able to move beyond one object and one residue magic at a time.) Cove was thrilled with Draco at being able to do a little bit of wandless magic and encouraged him every lesson.

Severus’ meditation helped the most when it came to being in crowded places, and Draco was very much looking forward to the day when he could be in public without mental shields.

He did talk to Severus before the weekend of the Quidditch match was out. He didn’t mention anything about Hermione and the fire, but he did ask why it looked like he was casting the hex. Severus confirmed he was countering it and even attempted to interview students as to which one did it. He was carefully holding something back, however, and when Draco told this to Harry, Ron, and Hermione, they all agreed he was probably hiding that he wasn’t trying to find the actual caster all that hard.

Draco was properly subdued the morning of the day he was supposed to return home. He had been getting more and more anxious as the term closed, burying himself in whatever book he could, and had even taken to using a red book from Ravenclaw Tower that turned into an armchair to hide away in isolated parts of the castle.

He was just wondering if Father would be with Mother to pick him up or not when someone sat down beside him at the Ravenclaw table in the Great Hall and tapped him on the shoulder. He looked over to find a worried looking Harry.

“Are you okay?” he asked quietly, leaning in closely to keep others from hearing.

“I don’t know,” Draco admitted honestly. “I don’t know what’s waiting for me at home.”

“Do you really think your dad’s going to be mad about the whole Ravenclaw thing?”

“Oh yes,” Draco confirmed, hunching in on himself and picking at his uneaten breakfast with his fork. “He was furious when I was sorted. Severus told me he’s been up here twice to find some loophole he could pull, not that he would deem it worth his time to even see me while he was here. If he ever finds out about my extra lessons with Dumbledore and McGonagall, I’m dead.”

“You’re getting extra lessons from McGonagall too?” Harry asked.

Draco sighed. He didn’t mean to let that slip, but it was just Harry. “Yeah,” he said. “And from Severus."

“Makes sense,” Harry said. “You’re hands-down the smartest person in our year. Probably the whole school. You’d be bored if you only took our classes.”

That managed to get a smile out of Draco. “Thanks.”

“And at least your mum will be there.”

“True. I miss her, even if I do want to stay at Hogwarts like you.”

“I wish you could too,” Harry admitted. “The Weasleys are staying though. Their parents are going to visit one of Ron’s brothers for Christmas instead.”

Draco groaned. “That’s another thing. I have no doubt Father knows I’m friends with a Weasley. And a muggle-born. He’s going to be extra furious.”

Harry patted him on the shoulder. “Just… think of all your presents. The holiday will be over in no time.”

*~*~*~*

The holidays were not over in no time.

The moment he got home, his father pulled him into his study and interrogated him. He wanted to know everything that happened during the term, and the more Draco talked, the more Father fumed. That first night was spent in eerie silence, and then the next day, Father announced that he wasn’t going to let an old hat and a school that was going downhill ruin his son.

And unfortunately, this announcement was made without his mother around. Somehow, Lucius was able to plan his new 'lessons' for Draco perfectly, and when Draco told Mother about it, she was angry but unable to change his mind.

So, Draco spent his holidays being surrounded by Dark. Dark Magic his father tried to get him to cast but settled on Draco only studying the theory. Dark artifacts that Draco knew all too intimately well, and they seemed to remember him too. And Dark scrolls that taught him about Dark rituals and their ‘usefulness’.

His nightmares, which he hadn’t had in months, returned with a vengeance. Draco spent his days shaking, terrified, and his father was so angry at what a ‘weak’ son he had, he ultimately canceled Christmas. Nothing his mother tried would get Father to back down. Day after long day, Draco was forced to bleed over the Dark Arts. Cove was fine at first, but eventually, Draco ended up having to leave Cove locked safely in his room to prevent it from getting corrupted. Every night, Cove would try to help Draco, but Draco was too scared of affecting his wand. He ended up not touching it for the rest of the holiday.

Father decided that it was going to be him that took Draco back to King’s Cross, so Draco said goodbye to his mother at the manor. Mother was able to get Father to allow Draco his Christmas presents, and she assured him that they would be waiting at Hogwarts for him.

Father thought Draco didn’t deserve presents but seemed to settle for simply not watching Draco receive them.

Draco was _almost_ home free when his name was called out at the station, and his father’s hand came tight around the back of his neck.

It was Anthony who had called for Draco, and he and Hermione made their way to him.

“Hey, Draco! Good Christmas?”

His father’s hand squeezed his neck, _hard_ , and Draco gulped. “Yes. It was very nice.”

Anthony and Hermione narrowed their eyes and studied the two in front of them.

“Er…” Hermione started. “You must be Draco’s father?”

Father didn’t answer, just sneered down at her _like the mudblood she is_ Draco knew his father thought.

“Hi, Mr. Malfoy,” Anthony tried.

Father nodded at him and said in a smooth, but dangerous, voice, “Are these your friends, Draco? Hm? A Jew and a Mudblood?” His father's hand was so tight around his neck, that though his palm was on the back, his long fingers were pinching a little on his windpipe. Draco's eyes were watering some from the pain.

He knew there was only one answer his father was looking for, but he wasn’t going to give it to him. How dare his father do this? How dare he do it so publicly?

“Yes, sir,” he said defiantly, blinking his eyes toward his father, though he couldn’t move his head because of Father’s hand. “I’d also introduce you to my friend Ron Weasley, but he’s at the schoo-“ he yelped as his father jerked him away, hand impossibly tighter, and practically dragged Draco down the station. His father found him an empty compartment all the way at the back of the train, threw Draco and his trunk in, and slammed the door without so much of a goodbye.

Draco took several, long breaths, and eventually got up. He stored his trunk, then sat by the window, hugging his knees to his chest. Cove was pulsing with its protectiveness, wanting to _do_ something, but there was nothing to be done.

He blinked away a couple of tears and practiced Mindfulness, blanking his mind from too-deep thoughts. He was safe. He was okay. He was going back to Hogwarts, and he would spend the next few months training his Empathy and coming up with a way not to spend his summer surrounded by the Dark Arts. Surely if he got Severus on his side along with his mother, Father would back down.

The train began to move, and Draco laid his head on the window, looking out. It was a bleak day.

This was how Anthony and Hermione found him.

“Draco!” Hermione cried, rushing to sit next to him as Anthony sat across from him. “Are you okay?”

“No,” he answered flatly.

“Draco… are... are those bruises?” Anthony asked.

He heard Hermione gasp and could feel her tug at the collar of his shirt. “Ooh, that man!” she screeched.

“They are... they will be bruises, won’t they?” Anthony asked.

“Yes,” Hermione said furiously.

His mental shields already up, Draco closed his eyes. Thanks to months of lessons with Severus, he was able to tune them out and meditate. He must have fallen asleep, because the next thing he knew, Hermione was shaking him awake. At some point, Michael and Terry had joined them, and as he put on his robes, he felt the four of them watching him.

He ignored them.

When they left the train, they were led by Hagrid down a path from the station and to –

Draco gasped, eyes wide, and he froze. They were to take carriages back up to the castle, _horseless_ carriages that pulled themselves. These carriages were anything but horseless. What pulled them were huge, for one. Skeletal, for another. They had large, leathery wings, and though their faces were as skeletal as the rest of them, they had a reptilian edge to them.

“Draco?” he heard someone ask.

“Ah, yeh can see them, can yeh?” Hagrid voice cut through.

“See what?” he heard Terry ask.

“The Thestrals,” Hagrid answered.

The name of the creatures shook Draco out of his shock. “ _Those_ are Thestrals?” he asked, surprised by how weak his voice sounded.

“ _What_ are Thestrals?” Michael asked impatiently.

Hagrid nudged Draco to keep walking as he said, “The Thestrals are pullin’ the carriages, ‘o course. They’re winged horses, ‘em. Bloody brilliant, but uh... they got a bad reputation. Not many know 'bout 'em at Hogwarts.”

“Why?” Hermione asked.

“Why can’t we see them?” Michael asked at the same time.

“Because…” Hagrid shot Draco an apologetic look, then said, “Because only those who’ve seen death can see ‘em. That’s why not many like ‘em. Think of ‘em as a bad omen. Not true, mind. These here are gentle creatures. They’re dead clever an’ useful! Well, up you go,” he finished, not-so-subtly rushing Draco into a carriage.

He went without a fight.

So, those were Thestrals? Core of his wand? He shivered. They were ugly as sin, but it made sense if only those who had seen death could see them. Because why would the universe create something beautiful for people who have seen death? Not like they deserved it or anything.

He hunched in on himself, images from the Incident flashing through his mind. Oh yes, he had seen death. A lot of it. As well as much, much worse things. Things that made death a mercy. Cove was stirring, but since their time apart, it was hard for Cove to really get to Draco as quickly as it used to. He hoped a few days of constant contact could fix it.

“Draco,” someone shook his shoulder. It was Terry. “Come on, we’re here.”

“Oh,” Draco blinked. He was too lost in his mind to notice they had stopped.

He followed his friends in and was quiet as they made their way to their Tower. It was getting to be about dinner time, but Draco wanted to skip it. He wanted to sleep, though he was afraid to, and thought he could at least get into a restful meditative place.

He changed as soon as he was in their room and curled under his covers, his curtains drawn. Anthony tried to talk to him, asking him to come down for dinner, but when Draco continued to ignore him, he gave up.

*~*~*~*

Draco woke up screaming.

Somewhere in his mind, he knew he was suddenly conscious, but most of his mind was still trying to escape. There were people near him – _bad people, Dark people, hateful people, harmful people, terrible, terrible people about to do terrible, terrible things_ – and he _had_ to get away. He screamed, jerking away, falling off whatever he was on, back hitting something hard. Something hard also started falling on him – _rocks, dirt, being buried alive –_ and he _had_ to get away. He tried to get up, something caught his foot, and he fell back again. He jerked away, back hitting something cold and –

“ _DRACO!”_

He gasped, eyes focusing, and saw his dorm mates, all with their hands up, standing above him with various looks of concern.

His heart was speeding, his body shaking, and he was drenched in sweat. He let out a pathetic sob and shut his eyes.

“It’s okay,” he whispered to himself as he curled his knees to his chest and laid on his side, arms coming up more to hide him than protect his head. “It’s okay; it’s okay; it’s okay; it’s okay.”

He heard some whispering and a door, and eventually, a hand was on his shoulder; Anthony’s voice was close by. “It’s okay,” he parroted. “You’re safe. It was just a dream.”

But it wasn’t just a dream, Draco wanted to say. It was memories.

He didn’t know how long he was like that, but after a while, another hand was on him, gently pulling his arms away. Draco peeked out to see Madam Pomfrey in a nightcap and robe.

“It’s okay, dear,” she said. “You need to sit up, come on.” She helped him, and when his back was propped up against the window, she held out a vial. “Take this dear.”

Draco did as he was told, and immediately he started to calm down.

“There, there,” Madam Pomfrey said quietly. “All better. That was some Calming Draught. Do you want to come down to the Hospital Wing, Mr. Malfoy?”

Draco shook his head. “I’m okay,” he said.

She nodded and patted his cheek before getting up. She told them to go back to bed and left.

The lights were on in their room, and he noticed his dorm mates looked a bit panicked. It was only then he noticed Cove was fielding his Empathy.

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“What the hell, mate?” Michael asked.

“Don’t ‘what the hell, mate,’ him,” Terry barked. “He had a nightmare. Duh.”

“That was some nightmare,” Michael said.

“Are you okay, Draco?” Anthony asked.

“Yeah,” he answered. “Thanks, guys. Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Michael snorted. “You didn’t just scare us, dude. What _was_ that?”

“A nightmare,” Draco tried to smile. “I’m okay. Everything’s fine. Try to get some more sleep, yeah?”

Michael shrugged and after the three of them eyed him carefully, they blew out the candles and went back to bed. Draco waited until he was pretty sure they were asleep, then went to take a shower.

He was a bit shocked by his appearance. He didn’t pay too much attention over the hols, and he hoped he just looked this bad because of the nightmare. He was very pale; there were dark circles under his unusual eyes, and he seemed to have lost some weight. The bruises his father left were already healing, equally green and purple. A part of him wanted to run to Pomfrey and get her to heal them away. A bigger part wanted to show the world what his father did. He was definitely going to show Severus.

Cursing his father, he took his shower, dressed, and waited for the dawn in the common room. Catie came around pretty early. The first thing she did was ask if he was okay, and when he waved her concern away, she seemed happy to discuss Quidditch and Muggle Studies. Soon, the Tower was waking up.

He left before his dorm mates came down, not quite wanting to face them yet, and went in search of Severus before breakfast.

The dungeons were cold, which made him feel very thankful he wasn’t a Slytherin, and he knocked on Severus’ office door when he reached it.

“Enter,” he heard.

He went in, and his godfather took one look at him before he shot up from his seat and rounded his desk.

“I’m okay,” he said immediately, shutting the door.

“Your neck,” Severus said.

“Parting gift from Father.”

Draco felt a wave of fury from the man that was quickly pushed down and what was left was protectiveness and compassion.

“That’s why I came down. The holidays were awful. We didn’t even have Christmas. Father canceled it. He had me studying the Dark Arts every day. I had to leave my wand in my room to stop it from being affected. I can’t have a summer like that, Severus.”

“You won’t,” Severus promised, raising his wand toward Draco’s neck.

“Leave them,” Draco said, anger pulling at him.

Severus raised an eyebrow. “People will see. They’ll ask questions.”

Draco smirked. “I know.”

“You could get your father into serious trouble.”

“I know,” he said again.

“Very well,” Severus nodded.

Severus walked him to breakfast, though he was quiet. Draco knew he was going to owl his mother about his neck as soon as possible, and once his mother found out, his father was in for it. He hated his father for what he did, but he was glad that it might help secure his summer. Which was also why he wanted everyone to see the bruises. If his father ever did _anything_ else, everyone would know what happened, no matter what story his father would try to spin.

Cove gently reminded him of his shields, and Draco was able to throw them up just in time. By now, most of the school was at breakfast, everyone chatting excitedly about the holidays.

Draco ducked his head and heading straight to his dorm mates.

“Draco, there you are,” Terry smiled. “Where were you?”

“Talking with my godfather,” he answered.

“About your father?” Anthony asked. When Draco nodded, he said, “Good.” And that was all the Ravenclaw said on the subject. He could tell by the look on Michael and Terry’s face that Anthony and Hermione had told them about what happened on the platform. He was glad his friends left it alone and was gladder still that the news didn’t seem to change the way they felt about him.

About halfway through breakfast, Draco felt a prickle like he was being watched. He looked around and found Hermione, Ron, and Harry staring at him. He sighed. No doubt Hermione told Ron and Harry too.

“I’ll see you guys in class,” he told his Ravenclaws after he drained his juice.

Ron and Harry were sitting together on one side, so Draco sat by Hermione across the table.

“You look like hell, mate,” Ron greeted.

“Ron!” Hermione hissed.

“It’s okay,” Draco smiled at her. “I don’t mind. Besides, you’re the ones who have to look at me.”

“How are you, Draco?” Hermione asked, giving him a sad look.

“Miserable,” Draco admitted, crossing his arms on the table. “I talked to Severus already, though.”

“That’s good, I guess…” Hermione said dubiously.

Remembering none of them liked Severus, he shrugged and said, “What’s done is done. No sense in wallowing over it.”

“Draco…” Ron started. “Have you _seen_ your neck.”

“Yes.”

Ron shook his head, disbelieving, and Draco was uncomfortably aware that Harry was studying him – his eyes, his face, his neck, his shoulders, his chest, no doubt noticing the weight loss.

“He can’t get away with it,” Hermione said furiously. “You should have _seen_ him,” she hissed to Ron and Harry. “It was awful.”

“It’s over,” Draco tried to soothe. It didn’t work.

She snapped her head towards him and asked, “What else happened over break?”

Draco sighed and sagged a little. “I don’t want to talk about it,” he said to the table. Then an idea hit him, something to bring a little happiness. “Do you guys want to join me opening presents?”

“Opening presents?” Ron asked. “Got more, have you?”

“Actually…” Draco said carefully, then steeled himself to be honest. _He_ shouldn’t be embarrassed. _His father_ should be the one embarrassed. “My father canceled Christmas this year. We didn’t have it. But,” he hurried, “Mother sent my presents here for me to open.”

Ron and Hermione looked like they didn't know what to say to that, but Harry brightened and smiled big at him. “That sounds like fun. We can do this afternoon, by the lake. If it doesn’t snow, that is.”

“Brilliant,” Draco smiled back. “So, how were your Christmases?”

“Great,” Harry answered. “Ron and I had a lot of fun.” Harry then began to tell Draco and Hermione about some snowball fights they got in, the Invisibility Cloak he received, about finding the Mirror of Erised, and then announced he hadn’t made any progress on Nicholas Flamel.

“What?” Draco asked.

“Oh, that’s right. You don’t know. We think whatever Fluffy is guarding has something to do with a man named Nicholas Flamel.”

“The Alchemist?”

The Gryffindors froze and stared at him.

“You know him?” Harry asked, wide-eyed.

“Not personally,” Draco laughed. “Just of him. He is pushing seven hundred years old, of course.”

“Seven hundred?” Ron gaped.

Draco nodded.

“How?” Hermione asked.

Slipping into his lecture-mode, Draco said, “Nicolas, who went to Beauxbatons by the by, is an extremely accomplished alchemist. Alchemy is a branch of magic Nicolas is rumored to have created himself. It largely has to deal with the Philosopher’s Stone, which is a legendary substance that can – “

“Oh, get on with it,” Ron groaned. “We don’t care about that. What about Nicolas Flamel can be connected to whatever Fluffy is guarding?”

“Ron, don’t be rude,” Hermione scolded.

Draco only smiled, “As I was saying, the Philosopher’s Stone is a substance that can turn any metal into gold as well as produce what’s called the Elixir of Life, which makes anyone who drinks it immortal. Not forever, mind. One would have to keep drinking it. Which is what Nicolas and his wife do. Again, he’s pushing seven hundred years old.”

“Merlin,” Ron said, awed.

“That must be what Fluffy’s guarding. The Stone!” Harry smiled. “Thanks, Draco. You’re a genius.”

“Why are you so obsessed with this, anyhow?”

“We think S-… someone is trying to steal it.”

“Naturally,” Draco said. “I’m sure there have been several attempts at stealing….” He trailed off, thinking. “Hm… that’s interesting.”

“What is?” Harry and Hermione asked at the same time.

“If it is the Stone, Nicolas would know how to keep it protected. So, why move it?”

“Someone tried to steal it,” Harry reminded him. “The vault was robbed.”

“Attempted robbery,” Draco corrected. “They weren’t successful. I believe Nicolas and Dumbledore know each other, so it would make sense, I guess, that Nicolas would ask Dumbledore to help protect it, but…”

“But what?” Ron prompted.

“But after over six hundred years, _now_ there’s a big enough threat on the Stone to call for such extreme security such as Fluffy?”

“That’s true,” Hermione said. “There must be something going on for Nicolas to ask for help.”

“Which means it’s even more important to keep it safe,” Harry finished meaningfully.

The seriousness on their faces made Draco bark a laugh.

“What?” Harry frowned.

Draco just shook his head. “My Gryffindors,” he smiled, noting Harry’s blush at his words. “Come on, class will be starting soon.”

*~*~*~*

The Christmas presents he received were mostly useless items given no doubt out of his mother’s guilt. His presents from his friends, however, were wonderful. Pansy had given him an enchanted comb that styled his hair as he used it; Hermione gave him a muggle book series about a wizard (named Harry) who worked as a detective in New York City; Ron, a pack of sweets; Michael had gotten him a muggle jigsaw puzzle; Terry, a wizard jigsaw puzzle; Anthony, a book on muggle British history; and finally, Harry had given him a book on the analysis of Hogwarts Houses, reminiscent of their first meeting. He gave most of his other gifts away (much to Ron’s pleasure), and gave the ones from his friends prime real estate on his side of the dorm.

Term began, and with it, the return of his Empathy lessons. McGonagall was _beside herself_ when Draco told her he got the bruises from his father, and he didn’t doubt for a moment that she had told Dumbledore, which was why Dumbledore didn’t comment on them. His mother had come to the castle to inspect Draco in person, but he refused to let anyone heal the bruises. “Father put them there. They’ll stay for everyone to see.” His mother had winced at that, but it no doubt reinforced her fury towards Father.

The bruises did fade, however. The reconnection with Cove quickly help his energy levels, and his lessons with Severus were already starting to help his renewed nightmares.

Of course, just a few weeks into term wasn’t enough to be rid of them. He had a particularly bad one, one night, and to his embarrassment, Michael complained loudly about it while they studied with the Gryffindors. Ron seemed concerned, Hermione worried, but Harry… Harry looked at him with understanding, and they shared a smile. It made him wonder… Did Harry have nightmares too? He was much, much younger than Draco when Harry had his own Incident, but Draco knew first hand that when something Dark happened, it tended to not like to be forgotten.

He buried himself in his books, regardless. He ate well and began to color and fill out almost immediately. McGonagall seemed the most pleased with that, and he had suspected the extra biscuits in her office were just for him.

Three weeks into term and the approach of the next Quidditch match brought with it suddenly very anxious Gryffindors. He began to notice his Gryffindors avoiding his eye and were very careful with their conversations.

Anthony noticed, too, but like Draco, wasn’t going to pry. Michael and Terry, on the other hand, when they noticed…

“What the hell’s up with you three?” Michael whined during their Herbology lesson. “You’re acting all weird.”

“No, we’re not,” Ron said too quickly with a higher pitch than usual.

“Right, because that was convincing,” Terry laughed.

Draco noticed the Gryffindors shooting him a quick glance and then Hermione said, “No, really, we’re fine.”

Using his newly honed skill of reading people’s mannerisms and letting down his shields, Draco assessed them. With the hint of suspicion he was sensing, he was able to guess, “It’s something to do with Professor Snape.”

Harry sighed, resigned. “ _Told you he’d guess it_ ,” Harry mumbled to Hermione, then said much louder, “He’s refereeing the next Quidditch match.”

“So?” Michael asked.

“Do you remember what happened to Harry’s broom during the Gryffindor, Slytherin match?” Draco asked them. When the three of them nodded, Draco continued, “They think Severus did it.”

“Severus?” Terry’s eyebrows shot up. “As in arse-professor slash Dr. Phil-godfather, Severus?”

Draco nodded.

Anthony, Michael, and Terry turned eyes across the table to the Gryffindors. The seven of them were working on untangling Mandrake roots that they were going to plant next lesson. “Why’s that?” Michael asked easily.

“Well, er…” Harry looked uncomfortable, as did Hermione, but Ron interrupted confidently, “He never broke eye contact and was muttering.”

Anthony shrugged. “Standard hexing exhibition.”

“Exactly,” Hermione said.

“That’s interesting,” Terry added, refocusing on his work. “To what motive?”

Draco recognized their tones. They were in what Harry and Ron fondly called ‘brain-mode’. He caught himself doing it just as often as, and usually with, the Ravenclaws. Right now, they weren’t processing anything emotionally, simply intellectually. Later, probably in a couple of hours, the conversation would catch up with them, and they would have a more common reaction.

He was going to look forward to that.

Hiding his smile, he said, “He and Harry’s father were school enemies.”

“Revenge?” Anthony offered, the Ravenclaws steadfast working on the assignment and not looking up. “Could be. After all, Harry is the youngest Seeker in a century and was playing against his House. He could have tried to make it look like Harry didn’t know what he was doing and fell off his broom, maybe trying to get him kicked off the team.”

“Maybe, but,” Terry picked up, “what would be the point of continuing once it was clear the problem was the broom and not Harry?”

“Follow through?” Michael offered. “But that doesn’t make sense. That would only serve to make Harry look better – the youngest Seeker attacked during his first game? Not to mention the way he recovered. He immediately caught the Snitch.”

“Swallowed it,” Terry reminded them.

“Not to mention, he could get his revenge in several other, and easier, ways,” Anthony continued. “An attempt at the broom would have been a good one, but there would be no point of going through with it once Harry was knocked off, even if he didn’t fall.”

“What other motives then?” Michael asked.

“To do harm?” Terry suggestion.

“That would be stupid,” Anthony said. “The other teachers were there to protect Harry. The worst that could have happened would’ve been, like, a broken ankle. And those are healed instantly. The risk of what trouble he’d be in from attacking a student wouldn’t be worth it.”

“Then what else would he have been doing?” Terry asked.

“Countering it? If someone else was hexing the broom?” Michael suggested.

“That would make sense,” Anthony agreed.

“Yeah,” Terry picked up the thread of the theory. “Which means someone else was hexing the broom.”

“I think we all could guess who’d have motive there,” Anthony added.

“Slytherins,” Michael answered. “If Snape was countering it, then he must have figured out what was happening. If it was any other student it, he’d stop them, take points, throw them in detention, and for good measure, put the fear of Merlin in them.”

“But if it was someone in his House, he’d try to fix the problem quietly,” Anthony nodded. “I doubt he’d even punish them. If they did get in trouble, it probably was for not being cunning enough.”

“Now though, Harry’s not playing Slytherin, is he? He’s playing Hufflepuff,” Terry pointed out. “Why get involved this time?”

“True,” Michael agreed. “It would make sense for him to be refereeing if Harry was playing Slytherins. It’d be the easiest way to keep his own students in check.”

“Unless,” Anthony pointed out, “he’s heard some chatter about one of his students planning something.”

“Oh,” Michael and Terry said at the same time.

“Of course,” Terry nodded.

“That makes perfect sense.”

Draco finished for them: “If one of his Slytherins did something during the match, and it came out that Severus knew what they were planning beforehand, he’d be in trouble with the Headmaster and other teachers for not doing anything. But if he’s refereeing, he’s covered. He could still allow whatever to happen, or stop it – whichever is the most beneficial -  and if it got out he knew, he could easily say that was why he was refereeing – trying to proactively prevent what he thought were rumors.”

“CYOA,” Terry, Michael, and Anthony said at the same time.

After several moments, an awe sounding Hermione asked, “CYOA?”

“Cover Your Own Arse,” Anthony answered. “A standard motive for all suspicious people.”

When they were met with silence again, the four Ravenclaws looked up to find an admiring looking Hermione, confused and awe looking Ron, and a thoroughly amused Harry.

“What?” the four of them asked at the same time.

Harry threw his head back and laughed. Hermione chuckled. Ron shook his head slowly and incredulously. “Ravenclaws…” he muttered.

That night at dinner was when it hit Anthony, Michael, and Terry about the seriousness of the accusation that Severus attacked a student. It seemed to hit them all at once, which wasn’t unusual, and they dashed over to the Gryffindor table to surround Harry, Ron, and Hermione to discuss.

Draco watched on, laughing.

*~*~*~*

It seemed that having three more students come to the same conclusion Draco did help convince the Gryffindors Harry was safe. They still didn’t like or trust Severus, but Draco could tell Harry felt a lot less nervous than before. He supposed it was the whole ‘the other teachers were there to protect Harry’ thing.

That was one thing he noticed a lot of the Gryffindors had in common: they got fixated and tunnel vision, forgetting resources and other help available to them. Example: Hermione _setting someone on fire._ Simply getting an adult’s attention and pointing Severus out would have sufficed.

On the morning of the game, Draco was pulled outside the Great Hall by Severus, Dumbledore, and McGonagall. He could feel his friends watching what was probably an odd exchange of two teachers and the Headmaster asking him to step outside, but he hoped Harry would recognize the professors as the ones giving him ‘extra lessons’ and excuse it away reasonably.

“Is everything alright?” he asked after Dumbledore cast a Privacy Charm around them.

“Better than,” Dumbledore smiled proudly down at him. “We were discussing your progress on your Empathy, and we feel today’s game would prove a very good test.”

Draco felt his face fall. “No,” he disagreed immediately. “There’ll be too much energy, too many strong emotions – “

“And very little magic casting,” McGonagall said. “You have been working with Professor Dumbledore on keeping some Occlumency shields up and lowering others, yes?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he gulped.

“And you have been doing brilliantly,” Dumbledore smiled, eyes twinkling.

Draco frowned. He trusted Dumbledore completely, respected him, admired him even, but didn’t quite like him for this very reason – that damned _I’m-in-on-my-own-private-joke_ look. “With all due respect, Headmaster, what are you up to?”

Dumbledore chuckled. “The three of us have come up with a pop quiz for you. As Professor Snape is taking Madam Hooch’s place in her absence, I will join Professor McGonagall during the game to help keep an eye on you and make sure nothing goes array. You’ll be sitting with us, in the faculty section. If anyone asks, we will tell them that, as Severus is your godfather, he pulled some string for you to better watch him referee.”

“Your task is simple,” Severus continued, and Draco was surprised but proud to be sensing excitement from Severus. He never thought he'd feel that coming from the man. “One, you are to record any magic you feel cast during the game. Two, you will record all emotions coming from Professor McGonagall, as it is her House playing. Three, you will encourage Cove to focus on one player during the game, using your Empathy, and periodically check in with it and record its progress. Finally, you will meet with all of us after the game for us to inspect your records and well-being, and for the first time, we will test Cove’s ability to inform you of what you yourself have missed.”

Dumbledore was smiling, as was McGonagall, and Draco noticed Severus bouncing just a little, oh so minutely, on the balls of his feet. The excitement of his teachers was contagious, and he felt a wide grin stretch across his face. “Will there be marks?” he asked.

McGonagall huffed good-naturedly as Dumbledore chuckled. “We will grade you as harshly as you’d like, Draco,” Dumbledore answered.

“Let’s do this then!” he grinned.

The four of them walked to the field and arrived before anyone else. Draco had a feeling that was on purpose. They led him to a seat right in the middle of the faculty section, and then the professors started silently casting around. He recognized the Shield Charms thanks to McGonagall’s lessons. Draco was going to be restricted to the faculty, Ravenclaw sections (Ravenclaw being next to the faculty’s), and the field only.

When McGonagall asked what charms and spells they used, Draco was able to identify all but one of them. When he asked what that one was, Severus told him it was one he often cast on the Slytherin section before matches, and Draco had to bite his lip to keep from smiling. He wondered what plan the Slytherins had.

Dumbledore and McGonagall sat on either side of him, and McGonagall gave him a small journal and muggle pen to write with.

“Why the pen?” he asked. “Why not a quill?”

“You aren’t as subtle as you think, Mr. Malfoy,” Professor McGonagall said sternly, though her eyes kind. “I know you prefer them.”

He smiled and thanked her. She was far too observant, he decided, and he wouldn’t have her any other way.

He was instructed to meditate, build and reinforce his Occlumency shields, and check in with Cove as people from the school started coming over. He felt a little guilty he wasn’t able to wish Harry luck before the game, but he figured he could try to explain later, come up with something. And Cove would watch him; he needed to pick a player for the task anyway. He took a moment to be thankful that Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Severus never once laughed when he told them his wand’s name. In fact, they took the name very seriously, which showed him just how real and rare his and Cove’s bond was.

He told his teachers that Cove was excited and then did as he was told.

He had gotten very good at meditation, particularly with how hard Severus was pushing him after the holidays. He knew Severus thought meditation would help him at home, and he had a feeling Severus was practicing meditation himself, though he didn't know why.

He was in a calm, peaceful place mentally and safely tucked behind his shields when a soft hand grabbed his wrist, gently giving it a shake. He turned his head in the direction of it, somewhere in his mind recognizing it was McGonagall getting his attention.

“Begin,” the professor told him.

He leaned back and focused on his Occlumency. First, he told Cove to focus on Harry. Then, he lowered the shield blocking the emotions around him but centered it, focusing only on where he knew McGonagall to be. One aspect of his shield remained down for McGonagall, but the rest of it he lifted back up to block everyone else's emotions. It a couple of minutes to do. Finally, he lowered the shields he just recently learned from Dumbledore after the holidays to block out magical energy. He lowered them almost completely but held on to the foundation – _just in case_.

By the time he was ready and opened his eyes, the game had started and Gryffindor already scored.

Disappointed that he might not get to really watch the game at all, he focused on his task.

He was right – he couldn’t focus on the game at all. To be fair, however, the only thing he really cared about where the match was concerned was Harry and Severus. Cove was supposed to be observing Harry, and he knew his friends would tell him all about Severus’ referee skills. Still, the game seemed to be over awfully quick.

Throughout the short game, there were sixteen magics cast within the faculty and Ravenclaw section (a warming charm was one of the charms his professors cast over them so as to weed out repetitiveness and keep him from being distracted). McGonagall had an extremely wide variety of emotions that kept him constantly writing. Cove felt happy, like it had done a good job, and Draco looked forward to his marks.

The teams landed, along with Severus, and Dumbledore told McGonagall to take Draco to his office and that he and Severus would meet them soon.

They were both silent as so many people surrounded them almost the entire way. Draco didn’t feel safe to truly express himself until McGonagall and he were alone in Dumbledore’s office.

“I did it!” he squeaked and literally bounced, and he would never apologize for it. “I actually did it! The whole game! I only sensed your emotions, but I searched the magic of the whole place! Or, well, the – you know. But I did it!”

McGonagall graced him with one of her rare smiles. “You did, Mr. Malfoy. You should be proud.”

“I bet I passed,” Draco smiled back. “Top marks.”

“You bet?” McGonagall raised an eyebrow. “And what, exactly, do you want to bet?”

Draco recognized her _I’m-trying-to-be-serious-and-intimidating-but-this-is-just-too-good_ tone and took a chance. “I bet you a box of chocolate frogs I got top marks.”

McGonagall smiled again. “Deal.”

Right then, the door opened, and Dumbledore walked in. “I’m afraid Severus is temporarily detained. He will follow up with you later, Draco.”

Draco nodded, still excited. He hated Severus wasn’t there, but he kind of felt more comfortable with talking about his ‘pop quiz’ with his godfather without an audience.

“This is very serious, Albus,” McGonagall informed the Headmaster as he sat and conjured two chairs in front of his desk. “Draco and I have a bet on his marks.”

“Do you?” Dumbledore smiled at both of them.

Draco couldn’t help his grin. His cheeks hurt a little. “Yes, sir. I bet Professor McGonagall a box of chocolate frogs I got top marks.”

“Very serious, indeed,” Dumbledore smiled, sitting. For once, Draco didn’t feel like Dumbledore was in on a joke Draco didn’t know about. He felt like they were in on a joke together.

“Let’s have it, then,” McGonagall said, she and Draco sitting as well. “First, list the magical casts you felt. Next, my emotions. Then we’ll see how well Cove has done.”

Draco nodded and opened the journal he had been holding.

“The casts are as followed:

“A charm to increase hearing

“A charm to increase sight

“A charm to make a hard seat more comfortable

“A spell to increase a warmth of a coat or scarf or similar. I’m not sure of the item.

“A spell to braid one’s hair.

“A charm to change the color of one’s fingernails.

“A spell that puts specific designs on one’s fingernails.

“Both that charm and spell were repeated twice.

“A spell to tie shoes.

“A charm to increase sight.

“A spell to remove dirt from an item of clothing.

“Finally, a transfiguration.”

McGonagall made a noise, and he looked up at his professor, proud. “It was a transfiguration from a travel goblet to a thermos, a muggle creation.”

She beamed at him, and they both looked at Dumbledore, who had cast a spell to tell him all magical casting made in the air. Dumbledore whirled his wand in his hand – a gesture that was clearly habit and somehow familiar – and Dumbledore smiled.

“Excellent, Draco,” he said. “You caught all but one.”

Draco completely deflated. “I missed one?”

Dumbledore nodded. “During the transfiguration of the travel goblet the witch didn’t know how to activate, she also cast a charm to stabilize the temperature of her drink within her thermos.”

Draco frown. “The thermos would have done that.”

“Yes, but I don’t think she knew that.”

Several things ran through Draco’s mind at once. First, how did Dumbledore record casts so thoroughly? Second, how could he predict intentions? And third, he failed.

The failure affected him the most, and he ducked his head and tried to focus back on his notes in his hands, unconsciously pulling them closer to him. He was significantly less confident now. An image of his father’s angry, disappointed, and annoyed face flashed in his mind.

He was a failure.

“Now, onto Professor McGonagall’s emotions during the game,” Dumbledore prompted.

Draco cleared his throat and read his notes:

“By the time I was ready to start – “ _failure_ “ – and start, or, yeah, the, uh, the match already started.” He cleared his throat again. “First, Professor McGonagall was feeling excited, cautious, happy, and attentive. Her emotions continued as followed, mostly together or at the same time, but listed to the best of my ability:

“Happy.

“Worried.

“Annoyed.

“Satisfied.

“Exhilarated.

“Hopeful.

“Prepared.

“Hopeful.

“Annoyed.

“Stimulated.

“Cautious.

“Hesitate.

“Worried.

“Happy.

“Angry.

“Mollified.

“Annoyed.

“Excited.

“Appeased.

“Confused.

“Puzzled.

“Angry.

“Happy.

“Satisfied.

“Anxious.

“Confused.

“A small amount of distress.

“Happy.

“Excited.

“Thrilled.

“Dubious.

“Scared.

“A type of forced calm?

“Glee.

“Ecstatic.

“Pride.

“And finally, satisfaction, contentment, pleasure, pride, and concern.”

He finished his list and closed the journal, setting it on Dumbledore's desk. He thought he was writing a lot during the game, but suddenly he felt like he missed so much. Or too much. It didn’t feel like enough. He wasn’t _good_ enough.

After all, he missed a spell cast when he should have been _focusing_.

His thoughts were interrupted by both professors making noise. McGonagall had stood and walked around Dumbledore’s desk to read the journal over Dumbledore’s shoulder, apparently. Draco didn’t even notice anyone picked it up. And it was just in his hand. He had just sat it down! Why was he _still_ not paying attention?

How ridiculous was he? And he was excited to… to what? To prove himself to them? To have an opportunity to really put his Empathy to the test? To put his skills to the test? That sounded fine, but he failed. He failed _horribly._ He was probably the planet’s worst Empath in its history. Not only was he not a natural born Empath, but he was taught to suppress his Empathy. Maybe it was too late? Maybe it, he, was too damaged? Maybe –

A shock of what felt like fresh air and a bubble of sea breeze shot through him, pulling him gently but firmly from his mind and back into the room.

He looked around, surprised to find himself in Dumbledore’s office, and looked at both Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall standing in front of him. Dumbledore was putting away his wand.

Wait, weren’t they _behind_ the desk?

Draco shivered and asked, “What...?”

“You, as the term is for Empaths, Retreated,” Dumbledore said.

When neither professor said anything more, Draco sighed and said, “Because that explains everything, ever, from the beginning of time.”

McGonagall scowled at his sarcasm, but Dumbledore chuckled. “He is fine, Minerva,” he stepped aside, going back behind his desk. McGonagall sat beside him, however, completely focused on Draco.

The two professors looked at each other, then Dumbledore asked, “Draco, does that happen often?”

“Does what happen often? You didn’t tell me what _did_ happen.”

Dumbledore jerked his head down once in a nod, then said, “What happened just now was that the three of us were discussing your pop quiz, but when we tried to engage you, you weren’t… here,” Dumbledore said carefully. “You were obviously very lost in thought, and your eyes changed color.”

Draco blinked then sputtered. “I-… I’m sorry, sir. W-what?”

Dumbledore smiled kindly, but he was serious like he was when he was teaching – the Dumbledore that Draco preferred. “Empaths have a habit of, what is named, Retreating. This happens when an Empath needs to think, confer within himself – or, in your case, probably your wand, in order to perform incredible magic, and at other times, depending on circumstances. That, however, is when trained. Otherwise, it is known as a Weakness. You did not know of this?”

Draco blinked a couple of times, letting himself and Cove absorb this knowledge, then scowled. “No,” he said much more harshly than he meant. “I read every book Hogwarts has that even mentions Empaths, outside the Restricted Section. Twenty-eight to be exact. _Nothing_ like that was mentioned.”

Dumbledore nodded, and when Draco reached for Dumbledore’s emotions, he found Cove censoring it. Gently, Cove let him feel the Headmaster’s determination, calmness, as well as a hint of guilt.

“Please understand, Draco. Empaths are extremely rare, and as such, extremely powerful. Books that reference an Empath’s Weaknesses are prohibited to students.”

Draco’s magic pulsed around the room in warning as Draco became angry. “Even to a student who happens to be an Empath? Don’t you think I should be aware of my own Weaknesses?”

“Of course,” Dumbledore answered. “We were just hoping for you to be a bit older before then.”

“It is unusual,” McGonagall added, “for an Empath to Retreat so young. We didn’t think you would start exhibiting other elements of Empathy until you were at least fifteen.”

“Clearly, we were wrong,” Dumbledore nodded toward Draco. He could feel guilt from both professors, but Dumbledore’s was giving way to an intense curiosity. “I apologize, Draco. I will be happy to send along all the books I and the school possess on Empaths’ Weaknesses.”

“Thank you, sir." Then, Draco straightened as he asked, "So, what's Retreating?”

“Retreating is the ability to retreat to one’s mind. Your default is sensing everything around you, but when you Retreat, you physically and mentally shut out everything around you. It’s similar to Occlumency, but on an extreme scale. While you are Retreated, you will notice nothing around you, leaving you incredibly vulnerable. You would be unable to tell if someone or something approaches you. You wouldn’t even be able to sense magic. You will be, in a way, completely alone inside your mind. May I ask what you were thinking when you Retreated a moment ago?”

Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat and admitted, “About what a failure I am.”

“Come now,” McGonagall barked as though that was the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard.

“Ah,” Dumbledore smiled. “I see. That would explain why you Retreated. It would seem your Empathy is just as sensitive to your needs as well as those around you. I take it you very much wanted to pass your pop quiz?”

Draco raised an eyebrow at the professor in the most sarcastic way he could. Dumbledore smiled again.

“Of course. Your _Empathy_ felt like the failure, Draco, and you Retreated because you, logically, knew that wasn’t right and had to battle dominance with your Empathy.”

“Oh.” Draco shivered a little again. “What in the world happens if my Empathy becomes dominant.”

“Nothing,” Draco reassured. “If your Empathy attempts dominance, you will naturally Retreat and stay Retreated until you have control again.”

“But what if that took hours? Or days?”

“Hence the Weakness,” Dumbledore said gravely. “There are records of Empaths who were Retreated for months or even years. There have been many advancements, of course, and some magical medicine that seems to help. However, Empaths are still rare, and not much can be done when there are so few of you.”

Draco nodded, feeling a little ill. He was basically just told his Empathy could cause him to go into a coma at any given time. This was going to be a lot to process.

“Not to worry,” Dumbledore said brightly, as though reading Draco’s mind. “There are many techniques and lots of Magical Arts that can help train you to constantly be the one in control, and I’m sure Cove will be more than happy to help in the effort.

Draco nodded, feeling Cove’s agreement.

“Minerva,” Dumbledore addressed Professor McGonagall, “when we are through here, please inform Professor Flitwick of this new development. I will begin making inquiries into who would be best suited to teach Draco.”

“Of course,” she answered.

“What about my eyes?” Draco asked, suddenly remembering that little bit.

“Ah, yes. Some Empaths' eye color will change depending on what they’re doing. I suspect the color is an indication of which part of your Empathy is in use. Your eyes when you Retreated became a very light blue. We shall remember that going forward, and it will be best if your teachers tell you if they change color during lessons.”

“Has this happened before?” Draco asked.

“Not with me,” Dumbledore answered, looking toward McGonagall.

“Nor I,” she reassured.

“Now that they have changed once, I suspect they’ll begin to change more often,” Dumbledore told him. “Keep in mind, I doubt they will change according to your mood. They will most likely change according to your magic.”

Draco nodded.

“Now,” Dumbledore clapped his hands. “What does Cove have to tell us about the player it was supposed to be following with your senses?”

“Oh yeah,” Draco straightened up and smiled at the excitement he felt from Cove. “How do I do that?”

McGonagall answered, “Close your eyes and focus on Cove. It will guide you to speak for it.”

Draco did as he was told and tried to open up for Cove. Instantly, Draco started getting impressions, and he told them what he could, mostly of how and where Harry flew, the Bludgers he dodged, and how he caught the Snitch. When he was finished, Dumbledore and McGonagall were positively pulsing with pride. It made Draco grin, all feelings of failure completely gone.

“Excellent,” McGonagall said. “Well, Albus, I believe our Empath here passed with flying colors.”

“I agree,” Dumbledore chuckled. “You receive an ‘O’, my boy. Outstanding.”

Draco beamed. He was still a little sensitive to the one spell he missed, and he was still angry that no one saw fit to tell him he had Weaknesses. But, nothing could spoil his sense of accomplishment.

The Headmaster sent him on with an arm full of books on Empaths, and Draco began making his way to Ravenclaw Tower. He knew he was going to need to write his mother and tell her of his new developments. Maybe not the Weaknesses, not in writing, but definitely about his eyes changing color. She could confer with Severus and be able to keep an eye on him at home.

The teachers could keep an eye on him at Hogwarts, but what if he Retreated in the middle of the night? And everyone just thought he was sleeping? If he was Retreated for a certain amount of time, would he stay Retreated? He felt extremely vulnerable just thinking about it. Vulnerable, and lonely. He wanted to be able to talk about this stuff with someone other than the adults. Maybe his dorm mates?

He was going to need to do a lot of research, he decided.

“Draco!” he heard from behind him. He twirled around to see Harry, Ron, and Hermione hurrying to him. “There you are,” Harry said. “Come with us, I have something to tell you.”

Draco frowned but followed. Harry led them to an empty classroom and shut the door. Draco gently sat his books down on one of the desks and faced the Gryffindors. “What’s going on?”

“It’s Snape,” Harry said. “I’m sorry, Draco, but something happened.”

“Is he okay?” Draco asked immediately. “Are you?”

“I’m fine – we’re both fine. It’s not that. I was leaving the locker rooms when I saw him go into the Forbidden Forest. It didn’t look like just a casual stroll, so I followed him. He met with Professor Quirrell. Listen… We were right. The Philosopher’s Stone _is_ here, and I think Snape’s after it. I saw him trying to force Quirrell to help him get it. He asked if he knew how to get past Fluffy – and he said something about Quirrell’s ‘hocus-pocus’ – I reckon there are other things guarding the Stone apart from Fluffy, loads of enchantments, probably, and Quirrell would have done some anti-Dark Arts spell that Snape needs to break through – “

“So you mean the Stone’s only safe as long as Quirrell stands up to Snape?” Hermione asked, wide-eyed and alarmed.

“It’ll be gone by next Tuesday,” Ron whined.

“Wait,” Draco interrupted. “You _saw_ Severus ask for help to get the Stone. He actually said he wanted it?”

“Well… no, but I think it’s obvious, isn’t it?”

“Maybe,” Draco said honestly. “But it doesn’t quite make sense.” Draco sighed. For the first time in his life, he started to think he was getting overloaded with information. He didn’t think his brain could take much more. “Okay, wait. I have to go put up these books, and there’s something I need to do. How about we meet by the lake later and talk about it? I’ll bring Anthony, Michael, and Terry.”

Harry nodded. “Okay.”

Draco told them he would see them later, gathered up his books, and left. Deciding to put the Snape-problem aside for the moment, he refocused on what he learned about his Empathy. He didn’t like the idea of being so vulnerable.

When he got to the common room, he found Anthony, Michael, and Terry in a corner, laughing. Affection for his friends bloomed through him, and with encouragement from Cove, Draco made up his mind.

“Hey,” Draco addressed them.

“Where have you been?” Michael demanded.

“I’ll explain. There’s something I need to tell you guys. Let’s go up to our room.”

They sobered, seeing how serious Draco was, and followed him to their dorm. Draco carefully put down the books and turned to face them. They had made themselves comfortable on his bed, he saw, and he had to make Michael scoot over to join them.

Taking a deep breath, Draco told them. He told them that the Incident left him an Empath, that his father disapproved of his abilities, so this had to be kept quiet, but that after he came to Hogwarts, he learned he could be trained. He told them about the private lessons he had been getting all year, about Cove, about the pop quiz the professors had given him that morning, and then about what happened in Dumbledore’s office.

“Apparently, Empaths are usually older when they start to exhibit their Weaknesses. They didn’t want to tell me until then, but Retreating in Dumbledore’s office kind of forced their hand.”

“No kidding,” Terry snorted.

“Have any of you seen my eyes change color?”

The three boys shook their head.

“Well, that’s good, I guess. But Dumbledore said now that it happened, my eye color will likely start to change depending on my magic in use at the time.”

“Wicked!” Anthony grinned. “We’ll totally be able to tell if you’re cheating on exams!”

Draco couldn’t help but laugh and swatted Anthony’s shoulder.

“No, but seriously,” Anthony pressed, “that is pretty cool.”

“All of it is! You’re like, a walking lie detector,” Terry smiled.

“A what?” Anthony asked.

“It’s a machine you hook up to someone, and it can tell if the person is lying or not,” Michael answered.

“Ah,” Anthony hummed.

“But they _are_ Weaknesses,” Terry said, getting back to Draco.

Draco nodded. “There are probably more too.”

“It does stand to reason that an ability with extreme strengths would have extreme weaknesses,” Michael said. “Ying-and-yang type of deal. Balance.”

“How long does Retreating last?” Anthony asked.

Draco shrugged. “That’s the thing. My Empathy is as sensitive to my needs and emotions as it is to everyone else’s. There might be times it will try to, like, take over. I’ll automatically Retreat and stay Retreated until I win back dominance. It could be minutes, like in Dumbledore’s office – though I think he helped with that - or even months. Years, even, might be a possibility.”

Michael whistled low as Anthony sat up straighter. “That’s a huge Weakness, mate,” Terry commented.

Draco nodded. “That’s why I decided to tell you guys, finally. Dumbledore said my eyes were light blue. So, I guess if you see me staring into space with light blue eyes, take me Pomfrey.”

“You always have to be so difficult,” Michael teased, dramatically rolling his eyes.

“Just like to keep you on your toes,” Draco teased back.

“So, did Dumbledore give you books on your Weaknesses, then?” Terry asked.

Draco nodded and pointed to them.

“We can help you read them,” Anthony suggested, a bit of hunger in his eyes as he stared at the student-prohibited books.

“Actually, I was hoping you would. There’s some training I can do to help with my Weaknesses, but I doubt I’ll be having lessons over the summer. I need to load up now if I can.”

“Excellent,” Michael grinned. He jumped up and began passing out the books.

“Oh,” Draco said, remembering Harry as they each settled in to read. “Let’s go by the lake. I told Harry we’d met them.”

Once they were settled by the lake with a small, blue fireball keeping them warm, Draco cast a Privacy Charm to the best of his ability and told the Ravenclaws about the Stone and what Harry had overheard.

“Interesting,” Terry said.

“I guess we’ll wait to discuss it when they get here?” Anthony offered, fingers fiddling with the prohibited book in his hands. The boys were itching to open them.

“Sounds good to me,” Draco grinned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I tried to cater McGonagall's emotions during the game to the description of the actual game in the book. So, the game is canon, I suppose.
> 
> I would also like to note... Things on Harry's side pretty much stay as the book; therefore, I would like to point out something I should have addressed in the story. The reason why they suspect Snape is the same as in the book - on Halloween, Harry noticed Snape's injured leg and guessed he tried to get past Fluffy. Draco, obviously, wasn't paying attention to Snape that night. That is also what led them to believe Snape had hex Harry's broom (because Harry was onto him).
> 
>  
> 
> [Tumblr link for WCBC for more tidbits like that.](https://wcbc.tumblr.com/)


	6. A Brain of Feathers and a Heart of Lead

Draco yelped and jumped from whatever had pinched him, causing him to knock into Terry, who also yelped and jumped. Terry dropped the book in his hands, then scrambled to catch it, sending the blue ball of fire in the center of their circle to Michael’s face, who jerked back to avoid it and fell sideways onto Anthony. Anthony jolted, nearly dropping his own book, and shoved Michael off him with an indigent squawk.

Then the four of them looked up to find their three Gryffindors howling in laughter.

Ron was doubled over, holding his stomach. “ _I can’t breathe; I can’t breathe.”_

“That was just too _easy_ ,” Hermione laughed.

“ _Oh my god,”_ Harry breathed. “I love Ravenclaws so much.”

“What?” Michael asked, scowling.

“Too easy,” Ron laughed.

Catching on, Draco started laughing with them, and soon the others joined, realizing that they were so absorbed in their books, they didn’t notice the Gryffindors until one of them pinched Draco, sending the rest of the down like dominos.

“We all Retreated!” Terry cried.

“What?” Hermione asked.

“Nothing,” Anthony answered, calming down and shaking his head. “Reading time’s over, boys. Onto Snape conspiracies now.”

The Ravenclaws had Harry, Ron, and Hermione rehash everything they knew, and by the time they were finished, the four of them were in brain-mode.

“Whether Quirrell has some secret magical skill or not, there no way Dumbledore would entrust the safety of the Stone to only Hagrid and Quirrell,” Michael said.

“I agree,” Terry added. “Which probably means there are other teachers in on it as well.”

“But it couldn’t be many,” Draco said. “The more people know, the less safe the Stone.”

“Snape could easily be upset if he wasn’t picked as one of the teachers to protect it,” Anthony pointed out.

“That would be a type of motive, in a way,” Terry said. “The whole if-I-can’t-have-you-no-one-can. Upon becoming jaded by being passed over, Snape decides to steal it and have it for himself then.”

The other three agreed, and they fell silent. Something wasn’t quite adding up, and it was bothering Draco. It made perfect sense for Severus to go after the Stone if he was seeking revenge for being passed over. Petty of him, and didn’t quite sound like him, but Draco could see it. That wasn’t what was bothering him. What was bothering him was…

Terry let out a frustrated huff and said, “ _Why!?”_

“You just said,” Ron answered. “He was passed over – “

“No, not that,” Anthony cut in.

“I agree,” Draco added. “Why? It doesn’t make sense. Why move the Stone? Or specifically, why move the Stone _here_.”

“And why go to such dramatic levels?” Terry asked.

“And better still, make it so obvious, eleven-year-olds can find out?” Michael asked.

“Remember the start of the year?” Anthony asked. “Dumbledore’s announcement?”

“’The third-floor corridor on the right-hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death.’” Draco recited.

“It didn’t make sense then either, did it?” Anthony said.

“No,” Terry answered. “Of all the spells and enchantments in the world, they could have easily made the corridor off limits, safely, and no one the wiser.”

“Exactly,” Draco said. “Notice-Me-Not’s, repelling charms, Disillusionment.”

“Announcing it at the feast only served to draw everyone’s attention to it,” Michael observed.

“Dramatically, still,” Draco added. “Enough to scare students from it.”

“That’s it then, isn’t it?” Terry said.

“Exactly,” the other three agreed, nodding.

They looked over at the Gryffindors expectantly, but when they looked back confused, Anthony said, “Dumbledore _wanted_ to point it out. He basically announced to the whole school where the Stone was, but in a way to try to ensure students wouldn’t go there.”

“Why would he do that?” Harry asked.

“He wanted someone, or someones, to know,” Terry said.

“Which means,” Draco continued, “he knows _who_ is after the Stone. That would also explain why it’s here, at Hogwarts. So Dumbledore could keep an eye on it.”

“They aren’t guarding the Stone,” Michael finished. “They’re using it to lay out a trap. The Stone is bait.”

“It would have to be a specific person, too, wouldn’t it? The Stone’s been around for ages. Surely, there must have been countless attempts at stealing it,” Anthony added.

“Which would mean the motive of the thief isn’t just mere pettiness or a desire for gold,” Terry put in. “Nicolas would have already been prepared for that.”

“Exactly. To go to these extremes, Dumbledore would have to know the thief is desperate, probably wouldn’t stop until they got it,” Draco agreed.

“Which means they aren’t after the gold aspect at all, then, are they? There are much easier ways to get that if one was desperate for it,” Anthony continued. “It would have to be the Elixir of Life they’re after.”

“And it’s a someone Dumbledore doesn’t want immortal,” Draco pointed out.

“That person must be here at the school, then,” Terry pointed out.

“Uh, yeah,” Ron interrupted. “Snape.”

Michael shook his head. “That wouldn’t make sense. If it is Snape going after the Stone, he’s either doing it adjacent to the original thief, or he’s doing it _for_ the thief.”

Which Severus wouldn’t do for just anyone. Draco gasped as a thought hit him. “No…”

“What?” they asked.

Draco looked right at Harry. “Who do we know that, if alive, would probably be so close to death that only something like the Stone could restore him?”

Michael, Anthony, and Terry gasped as well.

“Evidence?” Anthony demanded.

Draco’s eyes didn’t leave Harry’s. “Severus. He was a Death Eater.”

Michael swore loudly, Terry's occasional foul mouth influencing them more and more, but Harry frowned. “Death Eater?” he asked.

“Follower of the Dark Lord,” Draco answered.

Harry’s eye widened, and his face paled a little.

“Wait,” Hermione said. “You’re suggesting Snape’s trying to get the Stone for You-Know-Who?”

“It fits,” Draco said, still looking at Harry. “If the Dark Lord is still alive, he would be desperate, wouldn’t he? He’d be terribly weak and wouldn’t be able to get the Stone by himself. And he is definitely someone Dumbledore – or anyone – wouldn’t want to return. So, of course, Dumbledore lays a trap. He lets out just enough information for the Dark Lord to know where it is, he gets teachers and others to put up ‘protection’ to make it look like he’s taking guarding it seriously. Once Severus, or if it’s someone else, finds a way to the Stone, Dumbledore will know who is helping him, and could possibly trap the Dark Lord himself and finish him off.”

“It’s brilliant,” Terry said after several moments of silence. “The only problem is that it’s at the fucking school.”

The mention of the Dark Lord seemed to have brought the Ravenclaws out of brain-mode. Draco finally looked around him. Michael looked terrified, Terry looked pissed off, Anthony looked stoic, Hermione looked as terrified as Michael, and Ron simply looked like he died yesterday and was just told about it. Harry, however, looked reasonably calm.

“What happens if the trap fails?” he asked.

“That’s obvious, isn’t it?” Anthony sighed. “He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named will rise again.”

“We can’t let that happen,” Harry said.

“It won’t happen,” Draco tried to sooth. Cove was sending waves of comfort to him, and he tried to send it out to everyone else. “This is Dumbledore we’re talking about. He’s got everything set. The most we can do is support them.”

“He’s right, Harry,” Ron said. “As long as Dumbledore’s here when the trap happens, everything will be fine.”

“I’m still pissed off!” Terry cried. “At a _school_. There are children here! What is Dumbledore thinking? He could just as easily set the fucking trap in the Forest! Away from the children!”

“I know,” Anthony agreed.

“No, he couldn’t’ve,” Draco added. “It might make it more suspicious. He needs it to look like he’s guarding it seriously. He also needs to look arrogant about it to encourage the Dark Lord to look for gaps and opportunities. Putting in at the school accomplishes both. Not to mention, if he’s around, Dumbledore could leave clues out for him without him noticing it, help him trap himself.”

“That’s a risky business,” Michael pointed out.

“Yes,” Draco agreed. “But when dealing with the possibility of the Dark Lord returning? I’d say it’s worth the risk.”

*~*~*~*

Draco decided against confronting Severus. If Severus was trying to help the Dark Lord return, Draco didn’t think confrontation would be very successful. He also decided against telling Dumbledore what he and the others knew and theorized. There wasn’t much they could do to help, they wouldn’t be very useful, and as the saying went, ignorance was bliss. Draco really didn’t want to know if they were right and the Dark Lord was at the school.

Harry and Hermione seemed to pick up on Draco disliking that topic, and thankfully, his Ravenclaws were with him in the _I-don’t-want-to-know_ department.

“You’re Ravenclaws,” Ron said when they told him this. “You want to know everything!”

“Yes, but I for one am willing to wait for that little tidbit of information _after_ Dumbledore has killed him,” Terry answered.

“Agreed,” the other three said at the same time.

Michael, Terry, and Anthony continued to help Draco learn about his Weaknesses. There were several minor Weaknesses that would develop over time on their own, catered to the Empath, but otherwise, there were four main Weaknesses. One, he already suspected. It was called Submerge, and it was a Weakness that happened when an Empath’s senses got overloaded, such as the times Draco had gotten overwhelmed, only more extreme, such as what happened on Halloween. Draco supposed that was the real first time a Weakness was exhibited. Submerging was why training was a must for an Empath because without proper training, an Empath ran the risk of being permanently Submerged by the time they were an adult, and there was very little magical medicine that could help them.

The second was Retreating. He learned a lot about it, as did his friends, and Terry decided Draco started Retreating so young because he was a Ravenclaw. “We already get lost in our heads, don’t we?” But Draco felt like it had more to do with the Incident, and Terry was merely teasing anyway.

The third was called Harness. If one would want to and knew how, one could Harness Draco’s Empathy, exploiting Draco, and could easily turn Draco into a slave.

Michael, Terry, and Anthony did extra research on that one and demanded Draco be taught how to notice it and fight it. Dumbledore agreed and promised that next year, he would start teaching Draco about Harnessing and how to protect himself.

The fourth and final Weakness was Divert, which was basically the opposite of Retreat. Instead of being locked inside his head, he would fixate a particular magical energy or emotion externally. The books described it as a type of trance, one that could only be broken by Draco himself. Turned out, when Draco Retreated in Dumbledore’s office, he didn’t go very far in, and Dumbledore was able to pull him out. Diverting, however, was harder for others to predict and usually was only noticeable by the time the Empath was totally Diverted. Draco would have to fight for control of his Empathy again, as it would be his Empathy gripping onto whatever he Diverted to.

He was immensely grateful for his friends and their help. They watched out for his eyes, especially during class, and knowing about the Weaknesses, they were able to keep an extra eye on Draco in general, which made him feel a lot less vulnerable.

Of course, they also started to use Draco’s Empathy as a good study tracker. Draco was able to tell them what exactly was wrong in practice spells they would cast and help them more quickly accomplish them. He enjoyed doing it, and he was encouraged by McGonagall, who said it was good practice for him.

Not to be too distracted from their school studies, Stone or no Stone, the Ravenclaws began scheduling out their studying for exams. Hermione was doing the same, and Harry and Ron grumbled and made a pathetic attempt at their own once Hermione started nagging them.

“We need dumber friends,” he heard Ron whisper to Harry. “Ones that would rather eat boogers than read.”

Harry laughed and said, “I don’t know, Ron. I’m pretty sure we’d be failing if it weren’t for them.”

“I guess,” Ron answered. “It’s kind of like we have five tutors.”

“Just call us Professor!” Terry interrupted.

Draco, for his part, was confident about the exams. He would review, of course, but he found himself looking into and going over more advanced material while the others studied. Ron and Harry noticed, of course, and called him insane, but Harry laughed fondly at him as opposed to Ron’s dramatic eye roll.

They were nine weeks away from exams when, one afternoon, Harry, Ron, and Hermione pulled Draco aside in the library and had him join them in a more private alcove.

Assuming they didn’t want to be overheard, Draco tried to cast a Privacy Charm around them.

“We need your help,” Harry said immediately.

“What’s wrong?” Draco asked.

“It’s Hagrid,” Hermione sighed.

“He’s got a dragon,” Ron supplied.

“He what?” Draco asked.

“A dragon,” Harry repeated. “Hagrid’s got a dragon. It’s only just hatched. He can’t keep it, of course, as much as he wants to. We’re trying to help him get rid of it. Ron owled his brother who works with dragons, and he’s arranged for his friends to pick the dragon up.”

“Okay,” Draco said. “Sounds like it’s pretty much taken care of.”

“Except we’re supposed to meet them at the Astronomy Tower at midnight so no one sees.”

“Ah,” Draco nodded. “Well, you still have that Invisibility Cloak, don’t you?”

Harry nodded, “Yeah. It could cover me, someone else, and the dragon.”

“So, what’s the problem?”

“There’s still a chance of getting caught,” Hermione answered. “The Astronomy Tower is close to Ravenclaw’s, right? We were hoping you’d agree to help us keep a lookout.”

Draco nodded, “Okay. We can be strategic about it. How about, Harry, you walk me and Hermione up to the Astronomy Tower under the Cloak first. We can check, make sure the coast is clear, and you and Ron can take the Cloak and gather the dragon. That way no one is caught going up there, and we can all fit under the Cloak to leave.”

“Sounds good to me,” Harry said. “Guys?” he asked Ron and Hermione.

They both nodded.

“Brilliant,” Harry smiled at Draco. “Thanks!”

“Of course,” Draco smiled back. “We can’t have Hagrid getting in trouble, can we?”

*~*~*~*

On the night of the dragon trade-off, Draco waited by a painting of ballet quills, as planned. It was past curfew, but only just. Draco knew he would be caught if he tried to sneak out after curfew, so he thought it wise to simply not enter Ravenclaw Tower until after business was taken care of.

He settled between a statue of some old professor and the wall, pulled out one of the muggle books Hermione had given him for Christmas and was content to wait.

A few hours went by, and Draco began to sense someone coming. Thinking it would be Harry and Hermione, he stood from his hiding place only to find Theo, Greg, and Vincent.

“Well, hello, little birdie,” Theo smirked.

“Uh,” Draco cleared his throat. “Hey, Theo. Greg, Vincent. We don’t see much of each other anymore, do we?”

“Oh, we seriously do not,” Theo sneered. “What is the perfect little Ravenclaw doing out past curfew?”

“I could ask you the same,” Draco replied, not unkindly, he hoped.

“Well, that would be none of your business, wouldn’t it?”

“Agreed. So, let’s just say goodnight.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. You know, I’ve been waiting for an opportunity like this one…”

“Why?” Draco asked cautiously.

“Well, see, your father asked my father to ask me to keep an eye on you. He’s worried, you see. Worried about what this school is doing to you. Wants to make sure you know your place and expectations.”

Draco sighed. Of course his father did. “Look, you don’t have to – “

“Oh, yes, I do,” Theo snarled, his lips twisting into a hateful grin as he stepped closer to Draco. “I also want to make sure you know your place.”

Before he could do anything, Theo pointed his wand and yelled, “ _Immobulus!_ ”

Draco magically froze and fell. Theo laughed and stood over him. “I heard a rumor that was the spell you used to stop that nasty troll on Halloween. It’s a Second Year spell, isn’t it? Well, as long as you know you aren’t the only one who’s advanced. Greg, Vincent? How about you show our little birdie here how advanced your fists and kicks are?”

Greg and Vincent did as they were told, punching and kicking at Draco where they could. In the midst of it, he heard Theo, “What’s this? A _muggle_ book? Oh goodness, my, my, this just won’t do…” then heard the sound of pages being ripped apart.

After what felt like a lifetime, Greg and Vincent finally stopped. They looked down at their work and laughed. “Very good,” Theo praised them. “Come on, then. Time for bed, boys. Goodnight, Draco,” he waved down at him. “I’m sure someone will find you in the morning.”

And just like that, they left.

Draco was pretty sure his nose was broken. He was in a lot of pain, and Cove was doing its best to assess the damage. He knew the Freezing Charm would wear off eventually, but he wasn’t sure how long that would be. His one saving grace was that he knew Harry and Hermione would be there any minute and find him.

Honestly, he wasn’t too surprised. Greg and Vincent were mindless, and Theo had all year to work on them. He just wished he knew why Theo hated him so much. If Draco was honest with himself, Theo had hated him since the Incident. Theo was there that night, after all. Maybe something _did_ happen to him, not just him and Pansy.

“Draco!” he heard Hermione cry. He let out a relieved huff through his nose as Harry and Hermione appeared before him.

“Draco, what happened?” Harry asked, crouching down next to him.

Draco’s eyes were frozen, too, so Draco had no way of responding.

“Check his pulse,” Hermione hissed as she put two fingertips of her own to Draco’s neck. He could feel Harry’s hand around his wrist. Of course, they didn’t know this spell yet. It _was_ a Second Year spell. They had probably only witnessed it so far when Draco did it on Halloween, so they wouldn’t recognize it on a human.

“His pulse is normal,” Hermione announced.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “What’s wrong with him, do you think?”

“I don’t know,” Hermione answered. “Harry, we need to take him to Pomfrey.”

“I know. What about the dragon though?”

Hermione was quiet a moment, then said, “I’ll go get Ron. He and I will take care of the dragon. You take care of Draco.”

“Okay,” Harry agreed. “Here, don’t forget the Cloak.”

“Oh,” Hermione made a sad sound, which didn’t fit with a simple hand-off of the Cloak.

“What?” Harry asked.

“Look,” Hermione answered, though now that they were out of Draco’s eyesight; he couldn't tell what she wanted Harry to look at.

“Isn’t that one of the books you gave him for Christmas?”

“Yeah,” she answered. “Someone’s torn it up.”

“I bet you it was Nott. I told you how he looks at Draco,” Harry practically growled. “You should have heard Nott on the train when he pinned Draco down, getting in his face about his books.”

How did Harry know about that, Draco wondered. He would have to ask him once he was unfrozen.

“Come on,” Hermione said. “We don’t have a lot of time. I’ll get this, you go on.”

Harry seemed to have agreed because then he was suddenly in Draco’s line of vision again. “Hey, Draco,” Harry said softly. “I don’t know if you can hear me, but if you can, don’t worry. I got you. I’ll fix this.”

Draco wanted to roll his eyes. His Gryffindors, he swore.

Harry pointed his wand at Draco, spelled, “ _Wingardium Leviosa,_ ” and levitated Draco to the Hospital Wing.

“Madam Pomfrey,” Harry called. “Ma’am?”

There were some noises and a door sound as Harry gently set Draco down on a bed.

“Mr. Potter? What’s going on?”

“I found him like this, ma’am. I don’t know what happened to him.”

Madam Pomfrey peered over him, narrowing her eyes. After a quick assessment, she pointed her wand and unfroze him.

He grunted and rolled a shoulder as he sat up. “Thanks, ma’am.”

“Draco?” Harry was hovering close by.

“I’m okay,” he reassured his friend. “That was just _Immobulus_.”

“What happened, Mr. Malfoy,” Madam Pomfrey demanded.

“I ran into some snakes,” Draco said, the bitterness in his tone palpable.

“What does that mean?”

“It means,” he started, then sighed. “It means I was taught my place.”

Madam Pomfrey made a noise and tsked. She fixed his nose then said, “I’ll be right back with some potions.”

Once she was out of the room, Harry was in front of him, hand on his chin, moving Draco’s head this way and that as he inspected it. “What happened, for real?” Harry asked.

“I ran into Theo, Greg, and Vincent.”

“Who?”

“Nott, Goyle, and Crabbe.”

The anger and protectiveness that came off of Harry was quite impressive, and Draco was reminded how powerful Harry’s magic was. “I knew it!”

“It’s alright, Harry,” Draco tried, putting a hand on his shoulder. “Madam Pomfrey is going to fix me right up, and then, on with our lives we go.”

“They’ll pay for this,” Harry promised.

“No,” Draco said sternly. “They’re not worth our time. Besides, I rarely see them. I don’t have any classes with Slytherins.”

“Yeah, well, I do,” Harry growled. “I know what they’re like. They won’t stop bullying you.”

“Probably,” Draco agreed easily.

It must have been Draco nonchalant attitude that caused sadness to start pouring from Harry. Without warning, Harry pulled him into a tight, strong hug that seemed to last forever until the door to the infirmary opened and startled them out of whatever moment that was.

Professors McGonagall and Flitwick were marching in.

“Mr. Potter, explain yourself.”

“Yes, Mr. Malfoy, what is going on?”

Madam Pomfrey, who must have had informed their professors, probably via Floo, came in at that moment with an arm full of potions.

“I found him, Professor,” Harry began.

“And how did he come to be in this state?” McGonagall asked.

“Some Slytherins,” Draco answered flatly. “They just wanted to make sure I knew what they thought of me.”

“Who, Mr. Malfoy?” Professor Flitwick demanded.

He gave both professors a pointed look and said, “You know I’m not going to answer that. It’ll just make things worse. You’ll give them detention, then they’ll retaliate, only with the added ammunition of calling me a coward, a wuss, and I’m sure what would have been some very creative synonyms.”

“Very well,” McGonagall sighed after she gave him a long, searching look. “Poppy, the potions?”

Madam Pomfrey gave them to Draco one at a time, then used her wand to fix a few ribs and heal his bruises already starting to form. “All cleaned up,” she announced, stepping to the side again.

“Good,” Professor Flitwick said. “Now, would one of you mind telling us why you were out of bed after curfew?”

Draco and Harry looked at each for a moment, then Draco simply said, “We, uh, we were meeting up.” It was the truth, and they could say they were planning on Draco riding Harry’s broom or something.

“For?” Professor Flitwick asked, but to his surprised, McGonagall loudly cleared her throat and said, “Detention, for both of you, and ten points each.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Harry and Draco said together as Flitwick squeaked a quiet, “ _Oh!”_

Draco frowned, confused.

“Very well. Mr. Potter, I’ll escort you back.”

“And I, you,” Flitwick added to Draco.

When they went to separate at the end of the hall, Harry and Draco mumbled a good night, and Draco was silent all the way up to Ravenclaw Tower with a giggling Flitwick. Draco didn't dare ask.

*~*~*~*

Half the Slytherin table broke out in laughter as soon as Draco walked into the Great Hall. Michael, Terry, and Anthony frowned at that and asked about it, but Draco just sighed and said he didn’t want to talk about it.

That was a useless endeavor because a moment later, Pansy Parkinson was parking herself next to him.

“Why are they laughing at you?” she demanded.

Draco groaned and rolled his eyes, knowing trying to ignore or deflect her would be futile. “Theo _Immobulus_ me yesterday, and Greg and Vincent beat me up. I’m fine, though. Really.”

The look in Pansy’s eyes was fierce, and Draco found himself not envying Theo one bit. Pansy was a worse punishment than what any teacher could give.

When they left the Great Hall later to go to class, Michael, Anthony, and Terry demanded more details, and Draco gave in and told them everything.

“A dragon?” Terry mused.

“Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” Michael asked.

“Yeah, we could have helped with the dragon,” Anthony said.

“I know,” Draco answered easily. “But it wasn’t my secret to tell.”

“True,” Terry agreed.

Studying for exams weren’t really Draco’s priority as the week went on. Draco’s Empathy lessons were becoming more difficult, which excited Draco. He was enjoying the challenge. It did, however, leave him more exhausted, and he was beginning to take their study time to rest instead. Their Gryffindors asked after him, worried about what was causing him to be so tired, but the Ravenclaws always waved the questions away with jokes.

Harry and Draco received notices of their detention, much to Terry entertainment. “They give you detention for being out past curfew, and then assign you detention that puts you out past curfew! Oh, what a way to taunt you!”

Draco could feel Harry's guilt over the whole thing. Harry seemed to be tearing himself up over it. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that Harry was blaming himself for Draco getting beaten up, and Draco had the suspicion Harry was blaming himself for Draco being so tired lately, as though the two were connected somehow. Draco tried reassuring the Gryffindor that, if it was anyone’s fault, it was the boys’ who beat him up.

Harry wasn’t sensible like that, however.

So, Draco was pleasantly surprised to find Harry waiting for him the night of their detention at the edge of Ravenclaw Tower. With his shields already down, Draco was hit with nervousness, worry, but also a bit of excitement and a sense of adventure. The Gryffindor had some news.

“Snape did it,” Harry said in lieu of a greeting.

“I’m sure he does a lot of things every single day,” Draco answered, amused, leading the way to the Entrance Hall.

“No, no, I mean, he did it. He broke Quirrell.”

“Ah, and how do you know this?”

“I was coming from the library after dinner, and I overheard Quirrell. He sounded like he was begging for someone not to do something – again – and then he caved and agreed to something. When he came out of the classroom, he looked so scared and like he was about to cry. I don’t think he even noticed me.”

“Did you look inside the classroom, see who Quirrell was talking to?”

“Yeah, it was empty, but the door on the other side of the classroom was open.”

“Hmm,” Draco nodded. “I’m not convinced it is Severus, but it definitely sounds like whoever is after the Stone has made progress. That’s good, I suppose.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Harry agreed. “There’s more. Hagrid told us, before we found out about the dragon, that is, which teachers are helping guard the Stone.”

“Yeah? Who?”

“Hagrid and Quirrell, of course, then there’s McGonagall – “

“I assumed.”

“ – Flitwick – “

“Him too.”

“ – Madam Hooch – “

“Good choice.”

“And Snape.”

“Ah,” Draco said again. “Well, if it is Severus, that would give him the upper hand. Have you heard anything that might imply whoever-it-is knows how to get past Fluffy?”

Harry shook his head. “Hagrid promised only he and Dumbledore knew.”

“Well, that won’t do, will it? Dumbledore has probably left clues by now.”

“That’s what I was thinking, but it would be difficult, wouldn’t it? The easiest and most believable way would be Hagrid letting it slip, don’t you think?”

“Maybe,” Draco shrugged, “and maybe not. Hagrid is very loyal. If he wouldn’t naturally give out that information, it would stand to reason he wouldn’t now – whether or not he’s in on the trap part.”

Harry agreed, and soon they found themselves in front of Filch by the doors leading to the grounds.

“Follow me,” Filch said, lighting a lamp and leading them outside. “I bet you’ll think twice about breaking a school rule again, won’t you, eh?” he leered. “Oh yes… hard work and pain are the best teachers if you ask me… It’s just a pity they let the old punishments die out… hang you by your wrists from the ceiling for a few days, I’ve got the chains still in my office, keep ‘em well oiled in case they’re ever needed… “

“Mr. Filch?” Draco interrupted.

“Yes?” Filch leered again.

“What in the world happened to you as a child?”

Harry barely contained a snort, and Filch frowned at him, as though confused by the question. He fell silent after that.

“Is that you, Filch?” Draco heard Hagrid’s voice. “Hurry up, I want ter get started.”

“Hagrid?” Draco called out as Hagrid came strolling toward them with Fang at his heel. “Fang!” Draco ran toward the dog, who happily greeted him and allowed Draco to fuss over him. A few moments later, Hagrid interrupted them. Draco realized Filch was gone, and he reminded himself of Diverting and told himself to be careful.

“Right, let’s go, then,” Hagrid chuckled over Draco’s love for Fang.

“Where are we going?” he asked.

“You didn’t hear?” Harry asked. When Draco shook his head, Harry said, “We’re going into the Forbidden Forest.”

“What? Why?”

“Unicorns,” Hagrid answered. “Can you see that?” he pointed, and Draco followed the direction the finger was pointing inside the forest until his eyes landed on a silvery puddle. “Unicorn blood. There’s a unicorn in there bin hurt badly by summat. This is the second time in a week. I found one dead last Wednesday. We’re gonna try an’ find the poor thing. We might have ter put it out of its misery.”

Hagrid sent them off with Fang one direction and took another, instructing them to shoot sparks if he was needed. Draco was very thankful for his Empathy at that moment. The forest was magical – very magical – and he couldn’t begin to parse through it. Instead, he kept his focus on sensing if anything was sneaking up on them while also pushing his Empathy out in search for the unicorn. He had no idea what unicorns felt like, but knowing a little about them, he guessed it would feel innocent and pure. Meanwhile, he counted on Cove to keep up his other mental shields.

If it wasn’t for Cove sending him reassurances, he would be terrified.

“This doesn’t seem to be that dangerous,” Harry said, though said it quietly.

“Trust me, there’s a lot in here,” Draco answered.

“How do you know?”

“How do you not?” Draco countered, a tease, making Harry chuckle.

“Could be worse,” Harry spoke again.

“Yeah,” Draco agreed. “Harry, when I was busy with Fang, what all did I miss?”

Harry smiled at him, “You mean when you were zoning?”

Draco nodded.

“Uh, not much. Filch tried to scare me by talking about what's in here. Then he left and Hagrid gave us the forest spill. That was about it.”

“The forest spill?” Draco asked.

“Yeah, you know, about how the forest is dangerous, and we shouldn’t take any risks, but as long as we stick to the path, we should be okay.”

“And I missed this?”

Harry shrugged. “You’re zoney, so what?”

Draco was quiet after that, thinking. He wanted to ask a very important question, but he didn’t want to sound like a freak, nor did he want the question to lead to Harry having questions of his own. Eventually, he settled for, “Did you know some people’s eyes change color?”

“Really?” Harry asked.

“Yeah,” Draco said. “Have you never seen it?”

Harry shook his head, chuckling a little. “What made you think of that?”

Draco shrugged, trying to hide his relief.

“See?” Harry laughed. “Zoney.”

“You make it sound like I’m crazy.”

“Of course you’re crazy,” Harry said playfully. “You’re a Ravenclaw.”

“Git,” Draco laughed, swatting Harry’s shoulder.

Before Harry could respond, Draco abruptly got distracted by a sharp change coming from Fang.

“What is it, Fang?” he asked the dog quickly, pulse picking up.

"Huh?" Harry asked.

Fang looked at a spot just beyond some trees nearby, then back at Draco. Draco, taking the hint, inched forward.

“What is it?” Harry asked from behind him.

“I don’t know,” Draco answered.

“What are you doing?” Harry asked.

“I don’t know,” Draco answered again.

Slowly, the two boys and the dog peeked through some trees, and what Draco saw and felt _hurt_.

“It’s the unicorn,” he whispered.

The beautiful creature laid within a clearing. Its energy was almost out – it was almost dead. Yet, the magic was still there, pulsing through the creature. It was in pain, and that pain was a physical ache for Draco. Not knowing what else to do, Draco raised his hands, palms out, and encouraged the pain to come to him instead because this beautiful creature deserved to die in peace. He could feel the energy of the pain, could feel it just starting to shift, when a cloaked figure came out from the other side of the clearing.

Distantly, he heard Fang bark, could feel something tugging at his sleeve, could hear Harry’s voice, but Draco’s full attention was sharply on the figure.

Dark.

_He was Dark._

The pain in the unicorn flared as the figure bent over it, the last of its energy disappeared, and its magic began pulsing and flowing from it to the figure. The figure gained significant energy with that, and its Dark Magic grew and flickered out, painfully hitting all Draco’s senses.

Blackness surrounded him, and he was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you guys think?  
> Also, note, Harry doesn't mention Sprout as being one of the teachers. He will later.


	7. Keep Your Feathers Well Oiled

Draco awoke with a start, sucking in air as though he had been under water too long, and jerked up, intent on – on not being where he was, to move, to _run_. Two strong hands forced him back down, and Draco screamed. He screamed for them not to hurt him. He screamed to be let go. He screamed to make it stop. He screamed to leave him alone.

A kind of soft breeze fluttered through him, and his full consciousness and awareness was pulled forward. He blinked. Above him was Dumbledore, McGonagall, and Severus. They were in the Hospital Wing.

“What happened?” he asked, embarrassed to find he was crying. He rubbed his face roughly, and Severus helped him sit up, the adults giving him a moment to get his bearings.

“Well, my boy,” Dumbledore began, “... you Submerged.”

He swore softly under his breath and was glad none of the adults reprimanded him for it.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Severus asked.

“The unicorn,” he answered, voice rough. “Someone in a cloak came at it. It was stealing its magic or something. It was Dark, Severus. He was Dark.”

Severus nodded seriously, and Draco briefly wondered if Severus really was the one working with the Dark Lord. He tried lowering his shields that he noticed Cove nicely put up for him to try to get a sense of him, but they wouldn’t obey. Cove was just as confused as he.

“My Occlumency shields,” he looked toward Dumbledore. “They won’t come down.”

“Ah, yes,” Dumbledore pulled out his wand and flicked it at Draco’s head. The shields remained where they were, but this time when Draco prompted them to lower, they did.

“What was that?”

“We held up Cove’s shields for when you woke up,” McGonagall answered. “Just in case.”

“Thanks,” Draco nodded.

“We will search the forest. I do not want you to worry about the man you saw, Draco,” Dumbledore said sternly. “Madam Pomfrey will keep you overnight. You need to rest. I suggest you miss tomorrow’s classes, and we should take another week off from your private lessons.”

“Yes, sir.”

Severus gripped his shoulder once, then the professors bid him goodnight after making sure Draco was basically okay. Madam Pomfrey came out after that, helping him into pajamas and fussing over him. He asked for some Dreamless Sleep, which she obliged with a goblet on his bedside table, and Draco bid her goodnight as well as he settled into his bed, prepared to replay everything over in his head, try to remember as much of his Submerge as possible. Pomfrey blew out the candles on her way, only leaving the moonlight flooding in through the windows.

Sudden movement beside him made him jump, and if it weren’t for a hand being pressed against his mouth, he was sure he would have yelped.

It was just Harry, though.

“Merlin,” Draco hissed. “You scared me half to death!”

“Sorry,” Harry grinned and sat on the bed facing Draco. His grin immediately slipped off his face, and he asked, “How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Draco answered, sitting up to better face Harry in return. “How long have you been here?”

“Just now. I slipped in before the door could shut when the professors left.”

Draco bit back a sigh of relief. At least Harry didn’t witness his freak-out, or whatever that was, he woke up to. Though, Draco reasoned, if Harry was waiting to sneak in, he probably heard it outside the door.

“Draco, what happened?”

Draco smirked at him to deflect the seriousness coming from Harry. “You were there, dumb-dumb. Plus, you probably remember more than me.”

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Harry asked, frowning.

“The hooded guy coming out of the trees.”

Harry winced. “So, you missed a lot.”

“Mind telling the class?”

“Well,” Harry began, shifting, clearly a little uncomfortable. “When… whatever that was, started drinking the unicorn blood, you started screaming. You fell to the ground. It looked like you were having a seizure. Of course, that gave us away. The man came at us, but a centaur came out and scared him away. Firenze, that’s the centaur, forced fed you these blue leaves, and you just passed out. He said he knew of you. That you were becoming famous among the centaurs, but he wouldn’t tell me why. He helped me get you back to Hagrid. On the way, though, he pretty much confirmed that Voldemort – “ Draco winced at the name, especially it being said so casually like that – “is after the Stone and is in the castle. I think that was Voldemort – “ Draco winced again – “in the forest. Firenze told me that unicorn blood can save someone, even if they’re inches from death, but at a great cost.”

“Yeah,” Draco agreed. “They would curse themselves by doing it.”

Harry nodded. “So, I think that was him. It makes sense… Doesn’t it?” he asked, hesitantly. Draco couldn’t help but smile fondly at Harry. Harry was always shy about telling Draco his theories.

Draco nodded and said, “It makes perfect sense. He needs to be sustained somehow while whoever tries to get to the Stone.”

“You still don’t think it’s Snape?” Harry asked.

“I’m not making any assumptions, you know that. If it is Severus, that would suck for me, and I don’t want to think about it.”

They fell into a thoughtful silence for a few moments, then Harry said, “What happened, in the forest, was the same kind of thing that happened at Halloween. Only, worse.”

Draco shrugged.

“You said it was because of what happened to you when you were little?”

Draco nodded.

“What… What _did_ happen to you as a kid?” Harry asked softly.

Draco looked down and began picking at his sheets. He could tell Harry everything. He knew he could trust Harry. Yet, irrationally, he thought of Theo and how Theo started hating him after the Incident. His Ravenclaw friends thought his Empathy was cool, if not something to be very careful with, but how would Harry see it? He already witnessed a Submerge, possibly two, but what would he think if he saw a Retreat? Or a Divert? How would he feel about being friends with someone who could be Harnessed?

After a long pause, Draco thought of something else and asked, “In the forest, when that was happening… did… what color were my eyes?” he settled with, bluntly.

Another pause came that lasted a few moments, and then Harry whispered, “Yellow.”

Draco pushed out a long sigh and slumped back against the bed.

“You were going to tell me, weren’t you?” Harry asked. “You were going to tell me right before we found the unicorn. That’s why you brought up the thing about eye colors.”

Not in the slightest, Draco thought. He shook his head and said, “I’m really tired, Harry.”

Yet another pause, then Harry, unexpectedly, wrapped Draco in another hug, like the last time they were in the infirmary together. Draco hugged back, thankful Harry, at least for now, was willing to let it go.

“Get some rest,” Harry said eventually, letting Draco go. “I’ll stop by tomorrow, if that’s okay?”

“I’ll probably be out of here, but yeah, that’s okay.”

Harry smiled at him again, lingered just a moment, then left, throwing the Cloak on right before he went through the door.

*~*~*~*

Madam Pomfrey demanded he stay in the infirmary at least until dinner, so Harry did get to visit Draco, along with Ron and Hermione. It would appear Harry only told them the jiffs of what happened to him, but he wasn’t able to get around the fact that Draco was in the Hospital Wing. He seemed to have settled for telling them it was another thing like on Halloween – which was the truth, so Draco was fine with that.

Hermione was telling him about their Charms lesson when the doors burst in, and Michael, Terry, and Anthony made their arrival.

“So?” Terry asked excitedly, bouncing a little.

“Tell us,” Michael said next, eyes alit with competition.

“Well?” Anthony said, some worry and caution rolling off of him.

Draco realized they were asking if he had a Weakness. Damn bastards were betting on him. Draco snorted and said with a smirk, “Sub.”

“Yes!” Michael punched the air, then held out both hands. “Cough up, boys.”

“What’s going on?” Hermione asked. The Gryffindors were frowning at them, but Draco couldn’t help but laugh at Terry, who was grumbling, counting out his coins.

“Just a bet,” Anthony answered her. Then cunningly added as he dropped some coins in Michael’s hand, “Draco didn’t have time to settle it before landing himself in here.”

“Look at that,” Michael said, cupping his hands to stare at the galleons. “Beautiful.”

“You couldn’t have waited to even ask how he _was_ first?” Hermione chastised.

“We knew how he was,” Terry said easily, going across the room to drag over more chairs.

“Yeah, Flitwick kept us updated,” Michael said.

“He just needs rest,” Anthony added. “And plenty of it. I heard a week of taking it easy.” A week without Empath classes, Draco realized Anthony was really saying.

“I don’t mind,” Draco said honestly. “Did you know the centaurs know me?”

“What?” the three Ravenclaws asked.

“Yeah,” Harry jumped in. “I met one last night. He helped me carry Draco back. He said Draco was famous among them or something.”

“Dude!” Michael beamed.

“Why?” Ron asked.

Draco shrugged, “My good looks, of course.”

“Ah, the Malfoy name,” Terry covered.

Ron snorted.

“I know,” Draco chuckled. He wasn't positive his Empathy was what they centaurs knew about, but from what he knew of centaurs, he thought it was a good guess. His Ravenclaws obviously agreed.

“So…” Anthony said, clearly about to open a conversation as everyone settled around Draco’s bed. “You-Know-Who.”

“Drinking unicorn blood,” Michael made a face.

“I reckon you’ve been told,” Draco smiled, looking over at the Gryffindors.

“It’s insane,” Ron said. “Just to think. He’s out there, in the forest.”

“We knew he’d be close by,” Michael pointed out.

“Yeah, but to  _know_ know.”

The Ravenclaws rolled their eyes. “Why do you think we didn’t want to know?” Terry asked.

“Oh… yeah, I guess.”

“Well, if he’s drinking unicorn blood, we were right about him being desperate,” Anthony pointed out.

“Quirrell gave in, too,” Michael said.

“We have to assume whoever’s working for him knows how to get through everything else. It definitely sounds like Quirrell is one of the last ones they needed to figure out. Which most likely leaves just Fluffy,” Terry said.

“Are we sure Hagrid hasn’t said anything?” Michael asked.

“As sure as we can be,” Harry answered.

“Dumbledore would have left hints,” Hermione added.

“If it really is a trap, it’s only a matter of time,” Terry agreed.

“It’s still scary though,” Ron admitted.

“Yeah,” Draco said. “But, as long as Dumbledore is here when they’re trapped, everything will be fine.”

“Nobody’s said anything to anyone else, right?” Harry asked. When the rest of them shook their heads, Harry said, “Good. That’s the one thing we don’t need. Voldemort – “ the others winced “ - learning it’s a trap.”

Draco shivered, “Isn’t that the truth.”

They chatted for a while, eventually going back to the exams that were coming up. Terry and Michael were making bets on who was going to have the first breakdown, and Hermione didn’t even disagree when her name was brought up. As the sun started to go down and dinner was being served, Madam Pomfrey came out, did one last check-over on Draco, and said he was free to go.

As they piled food on their plates down in the Great Hall, Anthony leaned in and asked, “So, how are you really?”

“Yeah,” Michael, who was across the table with Terry, said. “Harry told us you were screaming.”

“I apparently do that when I Submerge. Harry also told me my eyes were yellow.”

“Really?” Anthony asked. “What did you tell him?”

“I didn’t tell him anything,” Draco said. “Told him I was tired, got rid of him.”

“Why haven’t you told the Gryffindors?” Michael asked.

Draco shrugged. “I don’t know.”

“To each his own,” Terry accepted.

“Well, interesting detention, regardless,” Michael said.

“Are you guys as worried as I am?” Anthony asked.

Draco sighed. “I’m worried, yeah. Especially after last night.”

“Yeah, you come within a few feet of You-Know-Who, and you Submerge,” Terry said seriously.

“Guess that means I’m off the hook for being a Death Eater if he gets the Stone,” Draco tried to joke.

None of them laughed.

*~*~*~*

Exams were fast upon them, and Ravenclaw Tower became an entirely different place. House elves could be seen running in and out of the common room and other students’ personal rooms, ensuring students ate and had what they needed. The bookcases remained mostly empty, the students crowded around in the common room at night, and games begun. The older students seemed to be a master at turning studying into a competition, and Draco, Terry, Michael, and Anthony were drawn right in. The games functioned less on prizes and more on bragging rights, and that made it all the more better for them.

A new routine was set into place for the Ravenclaw boys. After classes, they would hunker down in the library with their Gryffindors, pre-studying for their studying. Then, when the rest of the school went to dinner, they went back to the Tower with most of the Ravenclaws and competed.

Catie agreed with his friends on the first night of games that it was unfair for Draco to compete with the First Years, so he began competing with the Second Years – and was winning.

“Honestly,” Michael complained one afternoon as Draco banged down several more books on Second Year charms on the table.

“Draco,” Harry frowned, picking up one of the books. “You do realize you need to be studying for this year’s exams? Not next’s?”

“Oh, I’m not studying for exams,” Draco answered matter-of-factly, pulling some notes towards him.

“I don’t understand,” he heard Hermione say, but Draco focused his full attention on his reading.

By the time he had gotten through two of the books, he was interrupted by Harry shaking his shoulder. “Draco? It’s almost time for dinner?”

“Really?” Draco smiled. “Excellent.”

“I think I’ll skip the studying tonight,” Terry said. “Michael, give me your table. I’m going to go find a quiet place to work on Transfiguration.”

Michael handed over the dark green book from his bag and asked Anthony, “Do you have an extra chair? I might go find an empty classroom, but just in case.”

“Sure,” Anthony said, having Michael his purple book. “Potions?”

“Of course,” Michael rolled his eyes, storing the chair.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said, making them pause in their packing. “Do you say table and chair?”

“Yeah,” Draco said, pulling out his own table. “See?” He opened the book and chuckled when the Gryffindors jumped in surprise at the table it turned into. Draco folded it back and put it in his bags. “They’re from Ravenclaw Tower.”

“They’re a blessing, I give you that,” Terry said.

“You coming?” Anthony asked Draco.

“Of course.”

“To dinner then,” Ron said with a smile. Ron’s favorite part of studying was stopping.

“Oh, we’re going to the Tower,” Draco said.

Harry and Hermione frowned. “You have to eat, Draco. You and Anthony have skipped dinner every night this week,” Hermione said.

“Oh, we’re eating,” Anthony piped up. “We eat in the Tower.”

“I told you,” Ron said, getting up and stretching. “Most their House have been missing dinner, Hermione. They must eat in the Tower.”

“We do, don’t worry,” Draco tried to reassure her, and then Anthony and he said their goodbyes and rushed to the Tower.

Four hours later, and Draco was schooling the other Second Years.

“This isn’t fair,” one of them complained. “You aren’t even in our year.”

“Makes it all the more impressive,” another said. “Draco, what were you saying about this potion?”

*~*~*~*

All the studying proved to be a really great distraction for everyone, but a day after the first exams, Draco noticed not everyone was so engrossed. Harry was sitting in a bay window in the library. He had his Charms book in his lap and a quill in his hand, but he was staring at the window, looking miles away. It was Harry’s sense of foreboding that had gotten his attention.

Draco shut the books in front of him and quietly made his way over, assessing Harry more as he did. There was a sadness about him. There was also a sense of fear, a strong sense of worry, and most notably, resolve.

“Hey, Harry,” he said as he sat next to him.

Harry jumped a little at being removed from his thoughts, and he forced a smile and said, “Hey.”

“What’s wrong?”

Harry’s fake smile slipped and slowly, he returned to looking out the window, mumbling, “ _How do you always know?_ ”

“There’s something I didn’t tell you,” he began.

“I’m sure there are lots of things you don’t tell me,” Draco tried. “Doesn’t mean you have to.”

“I want to,” Harry said. “That night, in the forest? You weren’t the only one affected by Voldemort.”

Merlin, Draco was going to have to get used to Harry just throwing that name out there. As it were, he flinched enough to knock his elbow on the glass. “Okay… What happened?”

“My scar,” Harry gestured to his forehead. “It hurt. It’s been hurting. I think it’s… I think it’s a warning.”

“Could be,” Draco said easily, making Harry look over in surprise.

“You believe me?”

“Of course.”

Harry nodded, then added, “I’m having nightmares too.”

“What about?”

“Just some old ones I used to have, only now… Well, the figure from the forest is in them.”

“Understandable,” Draco said. “Harry, we’re just eleven. Anyone at any age could have nightmares from what we saw.”

“It’s not just that,” Harry sighed. “I just…” He looked over at the others studying. Hermione was leaning over Ron’s shoulder, apparently correcting something, much to Ron’s displeasure. Terry was quizzing Michael, and Anthony was reviewing the exam he had taken earlier that day with his notes, trying to gauge how he did. “How can you guys just… go on as normal, knowing Voldemort’s out there?”

Draco huffed and rubbed his elbow from where it hit the window again. “I can’t speak for the others, but there is no normal for me. Every time I’m around Severus, I just want to confess everything we suspect and demand answers. Every time I’m around Dumbledore, I want to ask if our guesses are right. And you aren’t the only one having nightmares.”

Harry searched his face for a moment, then said, “Maybe it’s because we’re the ones who saw him.”

Draco shrugged. “Or because of our past experiences.”

“My scar definitely won’t let me forget.”

“McGonagall said something to me once… She said that emotions aren’t right or wrong. They just exist, and usually, they exist to tell us something.”

“What does that mean?” Harry frowned.

“Well, in your case, I think your emotions are telling you to be cautious. I think they’re telling you that if the trap doesn’t work, there is a good chance of… you know, and that would be a bad thing. Something you don’t want.”

“Duh,” Harry smiled a little. “I think all that’s obvious, Draco. Even I picked up on that.”

Draco grinned back. “Yes, but that doesn’t mean you have to act on them. It doesn’t mean if you brood, everything will make sense. You recognize and validate your emotions, and keep them in mind as you move forward.”

“That’s easier said than done.”

“Yes,” Draco agreed.

Harry waited for Draco to say more, but when he didn’t, he rolled his eyes and said, “That’s not helpful, you know.”

“I wasn’t trying to be helpful,” Draco smiled. “I was being honest.”

Draco got Harry to let him quiz him in Charms, and by the end of the night, Harry seemed better.

*~*~*~*

Draco spent the rest of exams letting himself get swept up in his friends as they were tested. It came to no surprise from any of his teachers that Draco made top marks. McGonagall even rolled her eyes when he handed in his test sheet and mumbled under her breath, “ _I doubt I even need to grade this._ ”

Professor Flitwick was the most excited about how well Draco did. He told Draco he gave Ravenclaw a great name, and he was honored to have him in his House. Draco probably shouldn’t have been as surprised by this – Flitwick was always trying to praise and uplift his students. Still, it felt great, being valued on his own merit without any expectation of others.

Their last exam was Potions, and Severus seemed a bit distracted to Draco. He wanted to ask – he normally would have asked – but he didn’t trust himself not to blurt out, “Are you worried about the Dark Lord getting trapped?”

He told the others this after they left the dungeons.

“You know,” Terry grinned. “I would have loved to have seen that.”

“Remember the shock on his face when Hannah got an answer right? I bet it would be fifty times better,” Michael added.

“It’s already year’s end,” Anthony pointed out. “What’s going to happen if the trap doesn’t work? Like, what if You-Know-Who loses his window?”

“I don’t know,” Draco said. “For all we know, he’s got everything he needs and is just waiting for the school to empty out.”

“Uh, guys,” Michael said quietly, coming to a stop. Draco and the other two looked over, then followed Michael’s line of sight to their Gryffindors. They seemed to be having a hushed argument, all of them looking a little panicky. “Who wants to bet we’re about to find out?”

“Hey, guys,” Terry shouted as the four of them rushed over. Harry and Hermione looked relieved to see them, but Draco recognized that suspicious glint in Ron’s eye as he watched Draco.

“What’s wrong?” Draco asked immediately.

“It’s tonight. Snape’s going after the Stone tonight,” Harry announced.

“Explains why he was so distracted during our exam just now,” Terry summarized.

“He was distracted?” Hermione asked, looking more worried by the news. In fact, the three were pushing out so many emotions, Draco threw up his Occlumency shields to make sure he was thinking with a clear head.

“How do you know this?” Anthony asked.

“Harry got a thought,” Hermione said, “about the man who gave Hagrid that dragon egg.”

“Norbert?” Michael asked, surprised.

“Yeah,” Harry continued. “It’s just awfully convenient that the one thing Hagrid had always wanted the most, a stranger just so happened to have in his pocket.”

“Hey,” Terry nudged Draco in the side, “we’re rubbing off on him.”

“Go on, Harry,” Draco prompted.

“The man never showed his face. Kept his cloak up, which Hagrid said was normal for Hog’s Head – “

“It would be,” Draco agreed.

“ – But that’s not the thing. The thing is that Hagrid told him! He told the man how to get past Fluffy!”

Michael groaned and his head fell back. “Of course he did.”

“But that’s a good thing, Harry,” Draco pointed out. “That means Dumbledore can trap him now.”

“Dumbledore isn’t here,” Hermione added.

“What?” the four boys asked, all of them straightening. Draco felt a chill.

“We were waiting at Dumbledore’s office,” Harry supplied, and Draco fleetingly realized they only knew where it was because Ron had wanted to follow Draco. “We thought we could tell him that Snape knows how to get to the Stone, so he’d be ready, right? Just in case. We ran into McGonagall and asked to see the Headmaster, but she told us he isn’t here! He got an urgent owl and is off to London. We tried to tell her that we thought someone was going after the Stone tonight, but she…”

“She?” Terry asked.

“She just dismissed us,” Hermione huffed, crossing her arms.

The Ravenclaws thought for a moment, then Anthony said, “She would, though, wouldn’t she? If she didn’t want students to get involved.”

“She probably already tried to get a hold of Dumbledore,” Terry said.

“Plus,” Draco picked up, “that would make sense, wouldn’t it? The Dark Lord wouldn’t want Dumbledore to be in the castle when they went after the Stone. Dumbledore is probably prepared for something like this.”

“That’s true…” Hermione hummed.

“It doesn’t matter,” Harry said, squaring his shoulders. “If that's true, great, but what if it isn’t? We can’t risk it.”

“What would you have us do?” Terry asked.

“Go after the Stone ourselves. Stop Snape from getting it. Or, at least stall him until Dumbledore gets back.”

That was met with silence, but as Michael opened his mouth, most likely to argue, Draco said, “Okay.”

“ _What?_ ” the other five said in unison.

“It’s too big of a risk to gamble the circumstance with theories and what if’s. Dumbledore most likely was prepared for this, yes, but we can’t know that for sure. The Dark Lord could have been convincing. Not to mention, Dumbledore may not know Hagrid told how to get past Fluffy. The stranger used a dragon, didn’t he? We’re the ones that covered that bit up for him. Hagrid didn’t even realize what he told the stranger, did he?”

Harry shook his head. “Not until he told us.”

“No,” Anthony said sternly. “Draco, you can’t… _you_ can’t.”

Draco frowned at him, but then Michael and Terry seemed to catch on and immediately outraged. “ _NO._ Draco, no!” “ _Are you insane?”_

“He’s right, though,” Harry pressed.

“This is You-Know-Who we’re talking about,” Ron added.

“No,” Anthony hissed. The three Ravenclaws were ignoring the Gryffindors as they all rounded on Draco.

“Hear me out,” Draco tried, holding up his hands.

“Draco!” Michael croaked. “ _Ron’s_ right, this is _You-Know-Who_. You could Submerge!”

“If you’re lucky,” Anthony yelled. “What happens if you Retreat, huh? You’ll make yourself a sitting duck, You-Know-Who’s for the taking!”

“And what of Diverting?” Terry added. “What happens if you Divert to… to… _him._ ”

“And Harnessing!” Michael croaked again. “Draco! What if You-Know-Who _Harnesses_ you.”

“That’s not likely to happen,” Draco deadpanned.

“What are they talking about?” Hermione whispered, though Draco didn’t see Ron’s and Harry’s answer, if there was one, as there was no verbal answer.

“It’s too dangerous for you, Draco,” Terry said more serious than Draco had ever seen him.

Draco let out a frustrated groan and said, “You’re focusing on my Weaknesses. You _know_ they come with Strengths. Strengths we _need_ if we’re going to pull this off. Can any of you identify him? Huh? Or sense which magic is what? If I go, we stand a much better chance at getting through and keeping whoever is in there locked up until Dumbledore comes back.”

Michael was shaking his head, “It’s too big a risk.”

“What are you _talking_ about?” Hermione tried again.

“Just go with it, Hermione,” Harry whispered.

“I can do this,” Draco said heavily.

“Ooh! _Goddamn, Merlin, fucking, GRYFFINDOR INFLUENCE, piece of – “_ Terry started ranting, stomping the ground then kicking the wall.

“No one else has to go,” Harry said with conviction. “I can go. I have the Cloak. I could sneak – “

He was cut off by Draco slapping him upside the head. “Don’t be an idiot. You know you need help.”

“Then that’s it, then?” Michael snapped. “You’re going to go, no matter what?”

“Yes,” Draco said definitively.

Michael started swearing too, burying his face in his hands and shaking his head.

“We know the spells,” Anthony said gravely after a moment.

“ _I know,”_ Michael whined behind his hands.

“What spells?” Draco frowned.

“When you were in the Hospital Wing this last time,” Anthony explained. “We asked what we can do to help when it happens, and Dumbledore taught us some spells.”

“What do you mean?” Draco asked, heart rate picking up.

“ _What do you mean_?” Terry mocked, coming back to them. “We _mean_ that we’re big jackass fools who thought we might want to _help_ you, but now you go saying your trailing after _You-Know-Who_ , so now _we’re_ going have to have to go skipping off after you to keep you from killing yourself.”

“I mean, _really_ ,” Michael snapped his head back up. “If someone could Harness me, You-Know-Who would be the _last_ person I’d go hunting.”

“What are you talking about?!” Hermione asked again, sounding very annoyed.

“I’ll explain later,” Draco sighed, too busy being oddly touched by his Ravenclaws to think of some clever lie or half-truth. He looked to Ron, “You’ve been quiet.”

“What if it is Snape?” Ron asked, eyeing Draco carefully.

“Oh, we let him go, naturally,” Draco snapped. “Don’t you _dare_ start with this shit again. I am _not_ my father, nor am I my godfather. If it is Severus, we keep him locked up like we would anyone else until Dumbledore gets back and can deal with him.”

“And you’d be okay with that?” Ron snapped back, raising an eyebrow.

“ _Yes_ ,” Draco hissed. “If Severus is going through all this trouble to revive the Dark Lord, I don’t want him anywhere in my life!”

Something in Draco’s face must have convinced Ron because his shoulders slumped, and he nodded. “Sorry.”

“Okay, what’s the plan, because I’m not going near this without a solid plan,” Terry announced.

“We need to think,” Anthony announced. “Come on.”

They were silent as Anthony led the way, and vaguely, Draco noticed he was leading them to Ravenclaw Tower. The Ravenclaws were more focused on the task ahead, it seemed, and the Gryffindors trailed behind, Hermione trying to get what Harry ‘knew’ about Draco out of him.

By the time they made it to the eagle knocker, the Gryffindors were panting.

“Merlin, where _are_ we?” Ron breathed.

The eagle spoke before anyone could answer, “What occurs once in a minute, twice in a moment, and never in a thousand years?”

“What?” Harry asked.

“Was that a riddle?” Hermione asked.

The Ravenclaws ignored them. After a moment, Michael said, “The letter ‘m’.”

“Correct,” the eagle said and opened the door.

They led the three Gryffindors inside the common room and hurried them up the stairs. Luckily, the common room was empty, what with everyone enjoying the end of exams.

As they hurried them into their dorm and shut the door, Ron seemed to catch on. “Are we in the Ravenclaw Dorms?”

“Duh,” Michael snapped.

Each Ravenclaw seemed to naturally head over to his own bed and sit on the ends, Draco and Terry sitting cross-legged. After taking their sweet time looking around, Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat in desk chairs – Harry and Hermione on either side of Draco, and Ron between Terry and the door.

“Well, first things first, I don’t think the seven of us can fit under Harry’s Cloak,” Anthony began.

“That rules out waiting outside the corridor for whoever to show,” Terry agreed. “It would be too risky if it was even just one of us, under the Cloak, as well. No telling what precautions they will take.”

“We’re good, but I don’t think any of us could come up with some kind of locking spell that could hold against an adult wizard, so barricading the door to the corridor is out as well,” Draco added.

“We will face the same problem when we find them,” Terry pointed out.

“But we would be better informed,” Hermione said. “If we just wait outside the corridor, they could come through at any moment. If we’re inside, we’ll be able to tell if he’s coming.”

“We could just stop him,” Ron said. “Stop him from getting the Stone and tie him up or something.”

“We might be able to take on Snape,” Harry shook his head, “but what if Voldemort is with him?” The other six winced at the name but didn’t comment.

“Besides,” Michael said, “Draco would be able to tell us if he was coming, regardless if we’re inside or out.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione asked.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Ron said. “Draco has fits, doesn’t he? He had one because of You-Know-Who was in the forest. He’d probably have another one if You-Know-Who comes out the door.”

“What about Halloween?” Hermione challenged.

“We aren’t talking about me!” Draco snapped. “Besides, I don’t react to Severus, do I? If the Dark Lord isn’t with him, or whoever, I’d be fine.”

“And for the record,” Anthony said, “he’ll still be able to tell us, though we won’t discuss why right now.”

“Thank you,” Draco sighed. “The Dark Lord there or not, we won’t be able to keep any adult wizard locked in. We could do it for a time, but eventually, we would fail.”

“Which means Dumbledore needs to come back in time,” Michael agreed.

“We assumed earlier that McGonagall tried to send word to Dumbledore. What if she didn’t?” Anthony asked.

“Good point,” Michael said. He looked around the room, and, spotting Terry’s owl watching them curiously from the headboard, said, “Terry, owl Dumbledore right now. Tell him that we think someone is going after the Stone in his absence, and we plan on holding them off until he returns.”

Terry nodded, shooed Ron away from his desk, and began scribbling away on a torn parchment already there.

“What if he doesn’t get it?” Ron asked, crossing over to sit at the desk between Anthony and Michael.

“We’re just going to have to operate on faith, I’m afraid,” Draco answered.

“So, when is the likeliest time they’ll make their move?” Michael asked.

“Not right now,” Harry said. “There are too many people about, and someone would notice if Snape was missing.”

Hermione nodded, “He’d have to wait until curfew. There would be too many risk-factors before then.”

“I agree,” Draco said.

“Alright,” Anthony picked up. “We’ll have to go after curfew, preferably _after_ they had gone through.”

“Timing like that is difficult,” Draco said. “If we wait too long, we don’t have the upper hand. If we don’t wait long enough, we take the chance of running into them on our way.”

“I say we wait an hour after curfew,” Michael suggested. “Surely, whoever it is, couldn’t get through everything and get the Stone before then. He wouldn’t be likely to wait too long after curfew either.”

“But McGonagall said Dumbledore won’t come back until tomorrow,” Hermione pointed out. “They’d have all night.”

“But he wouldn’t take that chance,” Draco said. “Especially since he already sent Dumbledore off. It’s clearly far away, but Dumbledore could arrive, realize the lie, and come back before he’s finished. That is if Dumbledore wasn’t already expecting to be ‘led’ away.”

“Here you go,” Terry cooed to his owl and taking him to the window after having tied the note to its leg. Draco, Michael, and Anthony braced themselves for the wind that was able to assault them from Terry opening one of the panes in his window. Harry, Ron, and Hermione, however, were not prepared, and as soon as the strong, loud gust of wind punched into the room, the three yelped, jumped, and held onto the closest thing they could.

When Terry closed it, Ron swore, and Hermione asked, indigent, “How did nothing fly away?”

“Well, you see,” Michael started, a sardonic smirk starting. “There’s this thing called _magic…_ ”

“Ooh!” Hermione complained, picked up a book next to her, and chucked it at Michael.

The others laughed a little, but it was short-lived.

“Okay,” Draco said. “So, we leave an hour after curfew. We’ll have to try to make it through whatever the guards are. Once we get to the last one, we have to keep them there somehow.”

They were silent for a moment, then Terry snorted. “We’ll have to get them talking.”

“What?” Michael and Draco asked.

“It’s a classic villain thing. They love the sound of their own voice. They’ll want to brag to someone about what they ‘accomplished’, especially if they think they’ve won. We could combine the two, really. We could use what magic we know to trap them as long as we can, and meanwhile – “

“ _Use psychology!_ ” Draco yelled, brightening up. “That’s brilliant. It would distract them long enough to not notice our spells, then hopefully our spells will be enough until Dumbledore returns.”

“I don’t get it,” Ron said.

“Me either,” Harry added.

“Psychology,” Michael answered. “The study of the human mind. If we observe them right, we’ll be able to pick up on what would keep them talking.”

“It’s classic,” Terry said again. “It bides the hero more time.”

“Hero?” Draco and Anthony snorted.

“Well, it does,” Terry said smugly.

“Alright, let’s say we do that,” Hermione kept the plotting on track. “We still need to get past all the protections.”

“Right,” Harry nodded.

“Who were the people involved creating them?” Michael asked.

“Hagrid – “ Harry began.

“Fluffy,” Draco commented.

“ – Quirrell – “

“Most likely already defeated,” Terry said.

“ – McGonagall – “

“Something difficult and impossible,” Anthony added.

“ – Flitwick – “

“Workable,” Draco, Michael, Terry, and Anthony said.

“ – Madam Hooch – “

“Most likely involving flying or something up high,” Terry said.

“ – Sprout – “

“Really?” Draco snapped his head around. “You didn’t mention her before.”

“It would be unusual,” Michael said.

Anthony snorted. “As unusual as her plants. It would have been a plant Dumbledore wanted, not specifically her skills.”

“True,” Draco nodded. “And then Severus,” Draco said, looking towards Harry for confirmation that was all, who nodded. “If it is Severus who’s behind this…”

Draco trailed off, thinking, and fortunately, the others let him. After all, he was technically the Severus-expert in the room.

He groaned, rubbing his forehead. “Involved or not, Severus wouldn’t just stick to potions.” He looked back up, addressing the room. “Potions would be involved, obviously, but Severus loves Defense Against the Dark Arts. And mind games. And history, but he can’t very well use that, I wouldn’t think.” He sighed. “If Severus _isn’t_ involved, it will be difficult enough. If he _is_ , he’ll have a fail-safe. We’ll have to keep that in mind.”

“Right,” Anthony nodded.

“And then there’s Dumbledore himself,” Hermione pointed out. “He’s a part of the protections.”

“Yes, but…” Terry started. “If this is a trap, it will be clever, something to entice You-Know-Who, but I would think it would be catered to that, wouldn’t it?”

“Which is either good or bad for us,” Michael sighed.

“Okay,” Harry said. “We leave an hour after curfew. We get through as many as we can. We count on Draco to tell us if someone is coming, with or without Voldemort – “ the room winced again and Hermione interrupted with a soft _“And he’ll explain later,”_ but Harry pressed on, “If they start to come back before we get to them, we’ll do our best. When we reach them, we’ll do our best. Dumbledore will come, or he’ll get word to one of the other teachers if he’d take too long. We just have to hold them off.”

“Between now and then, we should eat something for strength,” Michael suggested.

“We should also change,” Terry said. “Something muggle. Robes would just get in the way.”

“And we should bring anything we can to help,” Draco said, then turned to Harry. “You never said, how do we get past Fluffy?”

“Music,” Harry answered. “Hagrid said music puts him right to sleep.”

“Are any of us musical?” Hermione asked.

“Merlin help us,” Terry groaned. “If we are, don’t let Flitwick know.”

“I have a flute,” Harry said. “It’s one Hagrid gave me for Christmas.”

“Can you play it?” Michael asked.

“It’s not a real flute. One of those that play music no matter what you do to it.”

“A recorder flute,” Terry and Michael nodded.

“Yeah,” Hermione confirmed.

“Muggle thing?” Anthony asked.

“Yeah,” the three of them answered, and that was enough.

“Flute, then,” Draco said, “and your Cloak. We also want to be careful about being loaded down. I think that’s enough for Harry.”

“Wait,” Harry cut in. “You said Madam Hooch’s protection may involve flying or something high. Shouldn’t I bring my broom? None of you have one.”

“I would think if a broom was required, one would be provided,” Terry answered.

“Why?” Ron asked.

“Because it’s a trap,” Draco answered.

The other Ravenclaws nodded.

“Seems too obvious, though,” Hermione said dubiously.

“But that’s the thing,” Anthony answered. “They need it to look like they’re guarding the Stone, yes, but also like they could get to it if needed.”

“Maybe I should bring my broom, though, just in case,” Harry tried.

Michael sighed and looked at Draco. “Can you do a Shrinking Charm?”

“I think?” Draco answered honestly. “I can practice before we go.”

“Good,” Terry said. “Harry, bring your broom, and Draco will shrink it until it’s needed.”

“Why shrink it?” Harry asked.

“To make it easier to carry,” Draco answered. “I’ll shrink it so it will fit in your pocket.”

“We should do that to the Cloak, too, if we’re wearing muggle clothes,” Ron added.

Draco nodded at him. “Does anyone else have anything that might be useful?”

The question was met with silence for several long moments before Anthony said, “You. You’ll be the greatest asset.”

“Yeah,” Michael sighed, sounding entirely put-upon. “We’ll make sure you eat. Practice the Shrinking Charm, then you need to meditate and prepare before we go.”

“I agree,” Draco said and looked at his watch. “That means we have four hours.”

“Better get on it,” Anthony agreed. “Harry, Ron, Hermione, you guys need to keep your head down. Make a plan how to get out of Gryffindor Tower.”

“Yeah, and go ahead and go to the corridor when it’s time,” Michael put in, looking at the other Ravenclaws to make sure they agree. They did. “We’ll meet you there.”

“How are you going to get from _here_ to there?” Ron asked.

“Very carefully,” Draco grumbled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> How are you guys liking Michael, Terry, and Anthony?


	8. Jump and Build Your Wings as You Fall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *shyly waves*
> 
> Okay, I'm actually a little proud of the chess game scene. I spent a lunch break with a chess set trying to come up with it. Please, if you see a flaw, let me know. Also, let me know how you like it? 
> 
> I know not everyone cares for chess though. I hope I made the scene entertaining enough for those who don't.
> 
> And for those who don't care much for chess: yes, I wrote out the whole game... You are warned. But there's seven of them! I couldn't not do it. 0:)
> 
>  
> 
> For those wanting to know going in: purple eye color.

After their Gryffindors left, Draco’s Ravenclaws fussed over him. Anthony demanded he take a strong shower with non-scented soap (“We don’t want a random whiff from your Potion's exam make your misread something.”). Terry picked out Draco’s clothes, the softest and most flexible he owned, which were a pair of dark jeans his father didn’t know about and a long-sleeved grey shirt (“They’ll be the easiest on your skin, and they match.”). Michael bribed a house elf with praises and compliments to send a bunch of food up to their dorm (“You need a protein, a carb, and a vegetable, and I won’t leave you alone until you’ve had enough.”).

Shrinking Charms were Second Year work, and though Draco knew the theory thanks to their study-games, he never had a chance to try it before. Cove, who was thoroughly involved in the whole ordeal, was more than happy to do its part, and Draco knew that if it wasn’t for Cove’s desperation to prevent the Dark Lord from returning, he would not have been able to do it within the two hours his Ravenclaws allotted him.

The next two hours he spent meditating. Cove helped in this as well. It radiated peace, calmness, stillness, as well as confidence, sureness, determination, and righteousness. Draco had a fleeting thought as he begun meditating that his wand must be a Gryffindor, and the thought was good enough for a smile and for good humor to come from Cove. Ultimately, however, Draco, Cove, and their Ravenclaws maintained that Houses didn’t define a person – or wand – completely.

It was just fun to speculate.

For the first time, Draco felt like Cove meditated with him, and they seemed to meet in the middle. Draco found himself visualizing a beautiful forest, full of clean, fresh air with mountains and hills surrounding the area.

It was Terry who shook him out of it, and all too soon, it was time to leave.

Draco stopped on their way out when he spotted Catie in the common room and wondered out loud, “Do you think there’s anything in our Tower that could help?”

“What do you mean?” Terry asked.

“Like the tables and chairs books. Do you think there are other non-books that could help us?”

“I don’t know,” answered Michael.

“Hold on,” Draco said, and he made his way to Catie. Before he reached her and her friends, he got her attention and motioned for her to step away. She did. When they were as private as they could be by a window, Draco asked, “Out of curiosity, those books that change into tables and chairs? And the armchair? Are there other books here that do similarly?”

Catie smiled and nodded. “Blue ones turn into cots, black ones turn into plates, brown ones turn into a timer, and white ones turn into a deck of cards.”

Draco blinked a couple of times, filing away that information, then said, “Noted. Could have used the brown ones the last few weeks. Please let me know any more of your secrets before you graduate. How were your N.E.W.T.s?”

“Dreadful, hard, and stressful, but I think I did okay,” Catie smiled.

Draco smiled back. “Don’t you dare leave without saying goodbye, okay?”

“Promise,” Catie smiled back. “Now, tell me why you’re trying to distract me while your dorm mates sneak out?”

Draco looked behind him and saw Michael, Terry, and Anthony hovering towards the exit, shooting eyes towards them. “Actually,” Draco answered honestly, “the four of us want to sneak out. I was just curious about the books. Or, non-books.”

Catie smiled in understanding. “Hoping to find something to help you sneak out? I never found anything, but then again, I never looked too hard. What, exactly, are you planning?”

“We’re friends with a few Gryffindors, you know. We just wanted to celebrate the end of exams without the school looking at us,” Draco lied easily.

“That’s right. You four are friends with Harry Potter and the two others.”

“Yeah.”

Catie sighed then smiled. “Well, as I was overlooked to be Head Girl, I take my revenge by telling you I know, for a fact, that in – “ she checked her watch, “ – just under three minutes, someone in this room is going to announce some Quidditch news that will draw everyone’s attention.”

“And how do you know that?”

“Because I’m that person,” she winked. “Be ready.”

Draco laughed after her. She was Quidditch Captain, and it was her duty to name a successor, which could be the only announcement she could make. He jogged towards his friends and relayed what just happened.

“As good as that is for us right now,” Michael said, “if she ends up naming some idiot as Captain over this, I’m going to be so _done_.”

“Take it out on the Dark Lord, yeah?” Draco suggested.

Michael stuck his tongue out, and after a minute, Catie was getting the room’s attention, announcing she had decided who was going to take her place. The four Ravenclaws took their leave when the opening was given, and, as quietly and cautiously as they could, made the long trek to the third-floor corridor on the right-hand side.

“Finally,” they heard Ron complained.

Right after, there was movement and the three Gryffindors appeared. Quickly, without a word, Draco shrank Harry’s broom and Cloak. Harry took them back and squared his shoulders after storing them in his pocket.

“Hold on,” Michael said, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Let’s go over the plan again.”

Harry, who seemed to be in his element, said confidently and comfortingly, “Dumbledore’s on his way back if he left at all. If he didn’t, we’re basically done, aren’t we? If not, all we need to do is go through that door,” Harry pointed, “work through some protections, like puzzles you Ravenclaws live for, and then hold off whoever we find until Dumbledore gets here.”

“And what made us think Dumbledore was coming again?” Terry asked, sounding scared but Draco wasn’t sure how scared. Draco hadn’t let down his shields since he put them up all those hours ago, and even though he knew he needed to soon, he was putting it off.

“Faith,” Harry answered. “Exactly what Draco said. We have to trust that he’s on his way.”

“And you yourself sent your owl,” Hermione reminded him.

“Last chance to back out,” Draco said.

The seven of them quietly gathered their courage, then Anthony nodded. “Right. Let’s do this. Draco?”

Draco nodded and moved to stand in front of the door. There was quick and fast movement from behind to distract him, though, and when he looked back, he saw his Ravenclaws shielding their Gryffindors, much to Hermione’s and Ron’s annoyance.

Draco couldn’t help it. He barked a laugh. “Don’t be so dramatic,” he told them.

“Right, sorry,” Terry said, stepping away from Ron.

“What the hell was that?” Ron asked.

“Focus,” Draco said, not wanting an argument to get started, and pushed up his sleeves, revealing his black leather wand sheath that fit perfectly on his twelve-inch forearm now.

He turned back to the door, took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and lifted his hands, palms out, towards the door. He carefully assessed his Occlumency shields and slowly let some down, keeping some up to block out the others’ emotions.

Immediately, Draco sensed a magic he hadn’t felt before. It was full of energy, crouched and waiting, and though there was some magic to it, it wasn’t very much. The threat laid with its energy, then, not its magic.

“That’s Fluffy, I take it,” Draco said. “On the other side of the door.”

“Yeah,” came Harry’s voice next to him.

Draco sensed around the large ball of fierce energy, looking for anything else. “There’s no one else in the room.”

“Are we too early?” he heard Terry ask from somewhere behind him.

“No,” Draco said. “There’s Dark residue. Someone’s been through here and had used magic. Other magic is leading me through a place on the floor.”

“That would be the trapdoor,” Harry said.

“Right then,” Draco sighed and opened his eyes. “Ready when you are.”

If the looks and double-takes of his friends were anything to go by, his eyes had changed color. Harry, however, who was the only one so far to have seen his eyes change, pressed forward before the others could react properly.

“I’ll start playing the flute,” Harry decided. “Anthony, you unlock the door. Ron, help him open it, slowly, with your wand out, and be ready. We won’t go inside until we know the music has taken effect. Draco, will you be able to tell?”

“Yes,” Draco agreed.

“Okay, let’s do this,” Harry said, putting the flute to his mouth. As Harry started playing, Anthony unlocked the door with his wand, and he and Ron stood near it, Anthony slowly opening the door as Ron stood next to him, wand pointed. The others waited on either side against the wall, but Draco and Harry remained in front of the door.

Draco couldn’t stop his eyes from widening as he took in the large, three-headed dog. It was growling at them, but its three set of eyes were blinking slowly. Draco kept his hands up. He sensed the energy slowly changing, becoming less and less fierce and threatening.

“It’s working,” he said.

Harry stepped forward some, still playing, and took a better look inside. Draco slowly followed, tracking Fluffy’s energy as it curled up and began to become restful.

After several more moments, Draco felt Fluffy landing in a complete state of dream-filled unconsciousness.

“He’s out,” he announced.

“Here,” Michael said, coming to stand next to Harry. He pointed his wand and cast a charm to make the flute continue to play what Harry had just done on repeat (something he could not do during a Charms exam earlier that week, and it was good to know he didn’t give up just because he wasn’t going to be tested again) and set it carefully on the floor.

“Good thinking,” Hermione said.

“ _Wingardium Leviosa,_ ” Terry cast, pointing his wand on one of Fluffy’s paws that was covering the trap door. He gently spelled it aside.

Anthony and Harry worked together to get the trapdoor open, and Draco moved forward, hands still out.

Shuffling through his memory of what his professors’ magic felt like, he crouched down and directed his hands through the trapdoor.

“Sprout,” he said. “She’s first.”

The other Ravenclaws cast _Lumos_ and sent their light down. The seven of them leaned their heads over the edges, watching it go, but whatever was waiting for them was too far down for them to make out. Or, a charm was preventing light from penetrating. Draco stuck his hands further down, closed his eyes, and focused as Cove fiddled with his Occlumency shields and used his senses to feel around them, keeping an Empathic eye out.

“It’s a magical plant. Familiar,” he said, parsing through. “Elementary, then. I’ve handled this plant before… It’s placed to be landed on… It… It feels like Devil’s Snare.”

“That is elementary,” Terry agreed.

“Did we cover that in Herbology?” Ron asked.

“Yes, Ronald,” Hermione huffed. “What was it that Professor Sprout said?”

“It needs dark and damp places to thrive,” Michael said.

“It’ll start to wrap around us the moment we’re near it,” Terry added.

“Right,” Hermione agreed. “It should be safe to land on, though. We’ll just have to get away from it as soon as possible.”

“And if it gets us?” Ron squeaked.

“Hermione’s good at fires,” Draco smirked at her direction, even with his eyes still closed.

“Will you _never_ let that go?”

“Fire should scare it away,” Anthony put in.

“Right then,” Harry spoke up. “I’ll go first. We’ll land on the Devil Snare, and if it gets anyone, we’ll set fire to it to get it off.”

“Sounds good, as long as it’s controlled fire cast with good aim,” Draco said, finally opening his eyes.

“Draco, is there anything else down there?” Harry asked.

Draco couldn’t stop his snort. “There’s a hell of a lot down there, but Devil Snare is immediate. I can’t push too far.”

“Okay,” Harry accepted.

The seven of them stood, and true to his word, Harry was the first to jump. Draco followed his magic down and sensed him scurrying away from the magic of the Devil’s Snare.

“It worked,” he announced. “He got away from the plant. I’ll go last.”

“Ladies first,” Terry said, gesturing for Hermione to go.

She rolled her eyes and jumped. One by one, they each went down, and each time, Draco carefully followed them with his senses, ensuring they were safe. When it was his turn, he took a breath and stepped over the edge. The sensation of falling shook his Occlumency shields, but Draco let Cove worry about that. He landed softly and without incident, and quickly scrambled to get away from the plant that immediately tried wrapping around his leg. Michael and Harry were closest and grabbed his arm, helping pull him away. Though, he had a feeling Harry had done that for everyone, the great Gryffindor oaf.

“Brilliant,” Terry sighed. “One down. Six more to go.”

The others lit their wands, and Draco pushed his way ahead of them, lifting up his arms again. Slowly, they moved forward. It was dark, and along with their echoed footsteps, the sound of water dripping down the walls surrounding them. Which made sense, Draco told himself. It needed to be dark and damp for the Devil Snare. It wasn’t that far a fall, so the _Lumos_ were blocked, most likely. The passage began to slope downward, and Draco’s hands shook slightly with his efforts.

He stopped when his senses brushed again something.

“What is it?” Terry whispered.

Draco didn’t answer him, just tiptoed forward, closing his eyes and focusing. The fathom smell of chilly wind hit him, and he smiled. “Madam Hooch is next,” he finally said. He crept forward, reaching out with his Empathy. He felt tiny little fluttering magical balls. Hundreds of them. They all seemed to be lazily floating around. Draco unconsciously lifted his hands higher, palms out, following the magic.

“Anything dangerous?” Harry asked.

“No,” Draco answered.

“Come on then,” Harry said and began to lead the way. Soon, they could hear rustling and clinking sounds. They came to the end of the passageway to find a large, lit-up chamber with its ceiling high above them. It seemed to be filled with small, jewel-bright birds, fluttering and tumbling all around the room. On the opposite side of the chamber was a heavy looking wooden door.

“What _are_ those things?” Ron asked.

“Do you think they’ll attack if we cross the room?” Michael suggested.

Draco lifting his palms higher still towards them. “I don’t think so,” he answered. “They seem quite dormant.”

“I’ll give it a run,” Harry decided and took off towards the door. Draco couldn’t help but roll his eyes. Nonetheless, he was glad when Harry wasn’t attacked. The others followed, Harry calling out that the door was locked. Draco stopped in the middle of the chamber, arms above his head, studying the birds.

They weren’t birds though. “Keys,” Draco called. “These birds are winged keys.”

“That must be the only way to open the door,” Anthony said. “ _Alohomora_ isn’t working.”

“Draco, can you find which key it is?” Michael asked.

“I can try,” Draco answered.

Looking above him, Draco pushed out his Empathy. Sensing what had been used by a magical person, and how long ago, was one of the first things McGonagall taught him. He swore a little when he noticed many of the keys had been touched by a magical person not long earlier.

“We’re half an hour behind them,” he announced, feeling like the others needed to know. Then, sensing the difference length of time whoever handled the winged keys, he added, “And they weren’t in a hurry. They mustn’t think they have to worry about getting caught.”

“How does he know that?” he heard Hermione hiss.

However, Draco thought, one of the keys worked, which meant whoever it was had to hold onto that key a bit longer, right? Possibly. But it definitely meant the key fit the lock. Moving his right hand down to face the door and keeping the left up, the began comparing the magical residue from the lock to the keys.

Hands shaking again with strain, Draco still doubled his efforts, left arm rotating as he surveyed the room.

Finally, “There! That one,” he pointed.

“It matches the knob,” Harry agreed.

“There are brooms over here,” Terry called from a corner of the chamber. There were only four, however. Draco un-shrank Harry’s broom, and Ron, Terry, Michael, and Anthony got on the other brooms while Hermione and Draco waited by the door.

Draco turned his back on the boys attempting to corner the key and laid his palms flat against the door, trying to sense through it.

He smiled. _This_ magic he’d know anywhere. “McGonagall’s next,” he yelled out.

“Oh yay,” he heard Michael’s sarcastic cheer from up in the air.

The Dark residue was a bit stronger on the other side of the door, as though it had stayed there longer, and in the moments it took for the others to retrieve the key and for Harry to unlock the door, Draco tried to familiarize himself with it. The funny thing was, it felt mostly familiar to him already. But… it was, mixed? somehow, with another magic – which was also familiar. Them together, still, was familiar. Yet, somehow, this was different. It felt unaltered like he was sensing its truth for the first time. Or… one half of its double truth.

“Draco?” Harry asked, getting his attention

“Careful there,” Anthony said on his other side, gripping his shoulder tightly.

“Right,” Draco shook his head and refocused on the next room after he shrank Harry's broom again. “It’s safe to step through; no one’s in there.”

This chamber was so dark, they couldn’t see at first, but as soon as they stepped into it, light flooded the room with large torches lining the walls.

Hermione and Terry gasped.

In front of them stood a giant chessboard with _huge_ chess pieces. They were lined up to play, obviously, and Draco spotted a door on the other side of the black pieces.

“We have to play our way through, don’t we?” Ron said.

“It would appear so,” Michael agreed.

“I’m not very good at chess,” Harry said.

“Lucky you have us,” Terry said.

“There has to be a catch,” Anthony pointed out.

The others’ words were drowned out as Draco stepped away from them and directed his palms to the pieces, feeling each individual one. The pieces had certainly been used recently, all of them except the white queen. A few of the black pieces were touched by the Dark residue they were following as well.

“We have to replace the pieces,” he realized.

“What?” Harry asked.

“We have to join in,” Ron said. “We have to take some of their places.”

“I suppose anyone who wants to get through that door,” Michael pointed, “has to play as well. We can’t just volunteer one person and us all go through.”

“This is dangerous,” Terry said. “There’s seven of us. This looks like standard wizard chess. There’s no way we can all play and all come out unscratched.”

The others were quiet for a moment to let that sink in. Then Harry spoke with resolve, “I’m not turning back.”

“Me either,” Draco said.

“We don’t all have to play,” Ron suggested.

“I’m not leaving Draco,” Anthony said.

“Me either,” Terry and Michael agreed.

“And we aren’t leaving Harry,” Hermione crossed her arms.

“Then it looks like some of us are getting scratched,” Michael sighed.

“None of us should be a pawn. That would be insensible,” Draco said.

“No one should be the king – you know, in case we lose,” Michael pointed out.

“That literally leaves only seven pieces,” Draco huffed, rolling his eyes.

“Come on then,” Terry said.

Hermione and Harry took the place of the rooks – Hermione queen's side, Harry king’s, Ron and Terry became the Knights – Ron queen’s side, Terry king’s, Michael and Draco replaced the bishops – Michael queen’s side, Draco king’s, and Anthony took queen.

“Everyone ready?” Harry called.

He got an answer of several grumbled “yeah”s.

“How about we start with pawn to E4?” Michael began.

“It’s as good of an opening as any,” Ron said.

The pawn, with the irritating sound of stone scraping against stone, moved to its position. Immediately, a black pawn moved to E6.

The others beside Harry and Hermione looked around. After a moment, Draco said, making sure his voice was loud enough to carry, “Feel like a pony ride, Terry?”

“Thinking F3 or H3?”

“F3.”

“Seems good to me,” Ron called.

Carefully, Terry moved between two pawns and took his position on F3. Black moved next, sending a pawn to D5. Terry and Michael swore.

“What?” Harry asked.

“The black’s possibly already lining up to make a move on Terry,” Draco informed. With Terry having moved, there was nothing but a blank space between Draco and Harry.

Harry frowned at him and looked back at the board. “Already?”

“Let’s move our pawn up, then,” Ron said. “Pawn to E5?”

“That’ll keep us from having to force our hand,” Michael agreed.

The pawn moved, and immediately afterward, one of the black’s knights moved to E7.

“Anyone see where it’s going with that?” Michael asked.

“Not yet,” Ron answered.

“Terry, keep an eye out,” Draco suggested.

“I guess we can move another pawn,” Ron said.

“Either that one to C3 or that one to D4,” Michael nodded.

“Let’s go with C3,” Ron agreed, and the piece moved as commanded.

A black pawn moved next, situating itself on C5.

“We’re definitely not on the offense, are we?” Terry tried to laugh.

“It’s alright,” Ron assured. “Nothing’s set yet. Terry, how about you move to G5?”

“Good idea,” Draco agreed.

Terry moved, then the other black knight settled itself on D7.

“Our pawn on E5 is at risk by that knight,” Terry said.

“Agreed,” Michael said. “Terry come back. Go to F3.”

Terry nodded and did so quickly. Then they watched with palpable anxiety as the black’s queen moved to C7.

“Great,” Michael complained. “Now she can get our pawn too.”

“And if she does, she’ll be closer to getting Terry,” Draco said.

“Open your eyes, guys,” Ron snapped. “If she gets our pawn, we’re in check.”

Draco looked over the board again and swore. “We need a dissuasion. Let’s move that pawn to D4.”

“Okay,” Ron and Terry said.

The pawn moved, and Draco took a deep breath. He was starting to regret being beside the king. With that move, the black changed direction and moved a pawn to H5. Draco looked around and considered their options. “If I move there,” he pointed to D3, “we can castle our king.”

“Bit of a defensive move, don’t you think?” Michael asked.

“It’s a good idea, though,” Ron agreed. “Let’s do that.”

Draco nodded and walked the two spaces to D3. They waited as a black pawn moved to B6, then Draco and Terry helped give Harry instruction on castling the king. The king obliged and moved to G1, Harry moving to F1. With the three pawns in front of them, the king had a good chance of being saved from any unexpected checks.

The sound of stone on stone came from behind Draco, who had been facing Harry, making him freeze. Slowly, he turned and faced a black pawn that just moved to C4, effectively getting into position to take Draco. It made no attempts at hiding it, either. The pawn turned slightly and faced Draco head on.

“Draco, get out of there!” Ron yelled. “Back up to C2!”

Draco didn’t need to be told twice, and he hopped over to the square in question. He didn’t miss the little disappointed slump in the pawn’s shoulders.

The first black bishop to move did so next, taking up B7.

“Now what,” Anthony asked, speaking up for the first time.

“Well,” Ron answered, “either Michael or Terry can go to G5, or Draco can go to A4.”

“I’ll go,” Draco decided, figuring it would be for the best. He moved, then the black’s pawn on the other side of the board moved up one to H4.

“I can’t see,” Draco heard Hermione whisper. “What’s going on now?”

“I’m thinking,” Ron whispered back.

“Let me go to G5 now,” Terry said. “We have an opening to set up a check.”

“Okay,” Ron agreed.

Terry moved, and then one of the black knights moved to C6.

“Draco, keep your eye on that knight,” Ron commanded. “Anthony, you need to go to F3.”

“Why?” Anthony asked.

“We’re setting up a check,” Terry answered.

“What kind?” Draco asked, standing on the tip of his toes to try to see past the group of pawns blocking his view.

“The kind you just sort of go with,” Terry called out, answering.

Anthony sighed and moved shakenly to F3.

Scraping stone got Draco’s attention again. This time, it was the other black knight settling down on C5, facing Draco. The pieces may have been faceless, but somehow the knight found a way to look smug.

“Uh, guys,” Draco called out.

“Crap!” Michael cried.

“What?” Terry and Harry called.

“Draco’s cornered again,” Ron answered. “Draco, stay where you are – “

“Are you kidding me?” Draco shrieked.

“ – let’s move the _pawn_ we have and take the knight.”

“Okay,” Michael agreed.

Apparently, all the pieces needed were for two to agree. The white pawn stretched from where it was crouched, pulled out its sword with a sickening sound of metal sliding against stone, and stabbed it right through the horse. The horse didn’t make a sound, just started to crumble as the knight rolled off of it. The pawn wasn’t finished yet, though. It yanked its sword out of the horse, effectively causing the rest of it to crumble into pieces, and turned toward the knight. With one loud swoosh of its sword, the pawn cut off the knight’s head.

Draco, who was the closest, felt frozen. His eyes were wide, and he shook a little. Some of the crumbled bits of the horse landed around Draco as it fell, one even hitting Draco’s shoulder, and he couldn’t stop looking from them to the headless knight. It was the first piece to be taken from the board, and Draco sincerely hoped it would be the last – other than the black king, of course.

“Let’s hurry this up,” Anthony called, sounding just a rattled as Draco.

Draco gulped and looked around. In his absorption of the broken knight, Draco failed to notice the black’s queen moving to D7, putting their pawns on C5 and E5 in danger.

A white pawn began to move from its position to take B3, diagonal to Draco. He could hear Ron yelling out something about surrounding Draco, but then it happened.

The black pawn on B6 didn’t even wait, didn’t waste a moment. It stood, pulling out its sword, and viciously stabbed the white pawn that had taken their knight. The pawn crumbled much like the horse, sending more pieces of stone to fall around – and on - Draco.

Stone was scrapping again, and Draco turned to see their pawn that had just moved up next to him standing and taking out its sword, stabbing it into the black pawn on C4. Draco had to cover his face with his arms as pieces from the two fallen pawns showered him and tearing at his clothes.

“Draco!” he heard many voices calling him. Draco didn’t move, though, coughing in the dust of the carnage, until he could no longer _hear_ stone. He slowly put down his arms, noting that a black pawn had moved to D4.

“Draco?” Ron called. “Draco, are you okay?”

“No!” Draco shouted. “I’m not! Let’s finish this!” Then he added under his breath, “ _I’m never playing wizard chess again_.”

Draco watched a little numbly as Terry moved into enemy territory. He took the place of a pawn on F7, but luckily, all Terry had to do was tap its shoulder to get it to move.

“Terry, please be careful!” Draco shouted at him as the black pawn moved to H5. Draco was shaking, and as much as he could feel Cove trying to help, it was much too busy keeping an eye around them. Relaxing a little that Cove would nudge him if someone was coming, he watched warily as Terry moved toward D6 to stand in front of the black queen.

“Wait,” Draco said, catching on. “What are you doing?”

“Making a sacrifice,” Terry answered.

“No! You can’t do that,” he shouted, but it was too late. Whatever Michael and Ron had set up, he would never forgive them if Terry got hurt. Why wasn’t he _listening_? Right, because _chunks of stone were falling on him_. Had fallen on him. Distracting him!

Terry came to a full stop, squaring his shoulders. The black queen moved, lifting up her sword –

Then Terry let out a high, unbefitting squawk and ran, flying pass the other pieces and throwing himself on the door they were fighting to get to. The queen seemed satisfied with that and merely strolled up to take Terry’s place on D4.

They were all quiet for a moment, then Anthony and Ron let out full-belly laughs. Draco couldn’t help it, he started laughing as well.

“Well, what would you have done!” Terry shouted, outraged.

That only made them laugh harder, and it took a moment to calm down. Harry and Hermione looked like they weren’t sure what was going on, but was enjoying watching nonetheless.

“Oh, that was amazing to watch,” Ron said, wipping a tear from his eye.

“Anthony, go on then. Take their pawn and put them check,” Michael prompted.

Anthony, still chuckling, walked over to H5 and tapped the pawn, who, with more dignity than necessary, walked off the board. “Oh my god!” Anthony’s laughter continued. “I think the pawn’s mocking you!”

“Shut up!” Terry shouted over the sound of the black king moving over a space to D8.

Ron gave the order for their white pawn to go to E5 to take down the black queen, and Draco understood now what they had set up. They forced the queen into a position for them to attack and distracted the black pieces from it by putting their king in check, making them take the defensive.

“Impressive,” Draco nodded to Ron.

“Thanks,” he smiled.

A black pawn shuffled down to G5 – a perfect opening for Michael to slide all the way over there and take its place, which he did, putting the king in check once more. The black king moved over another space to C8. Ron then instructed Anthony to E8, two spaces from the black king. The only black knight left hurried over to sit between them, but Ron just instructed Anthony to tap it out of the game. Anthony did and a checkmate was won.

“Whoo!” Michael punched the air. “That was awesome!”

“And only one of us got scratched!” Anthony beamed.

“Let’s not forget why we’re here,” Hermione said as they all hurried towards the door. “We’ve been down here a while. Snape could have the Stone by now.”

“And Dumbledore could be getting back by now,” Terry pointed out.

“Right, okay,” Draco said. He shook out his scratched and slightly bleeding arms and bounced on the balls of his feet, refocusing. He took a moment of deep breathing and readjusted his Occlumency shields, not having realized he lowered them during the game to keep an eye on his friends. He didn’t need their emotions distracting him.

Centered again, Draco lifted his palms and, carefully, touched the door.

He recognized the magic immediately. Troll. He also picked up magic he recognized as Quirrell’s but it was off somehow. There was always a hint of Dark around Quirrell, but Draco just assumed that was because of whatever happened to make him so… Quirrell. But now, the Dark was stronger. He tried to analyze why, and why he felt like he _just_ had this conversation with himself, when Harry shook his shoulder.

“Draco, what is it?”

“Oh, right, sorry.”

“Were you Diverting?” Michael asked seriously.

“Analyzing,” Draco said truthfully. “Professor Quirrell’s next.”

“Snape may have already disabled it. It was one of the last things he needed to figure out to get to the Stone,” Hermione said.

Draco frowned. “That doesn’t make sense,” he mumbled, focusing back on the troll. It was magical, but its energy was muted, curled tighter together than it would if it were merely sleeping. It was unconscious.

“What is it?” Harry asked.

“It’s a troll,” Draco answered, opening the door. The smell hit them immediately, and Draco brought his hand up to cover his nose and mouth. “It’s unconscious.”

They eased their way around the giant, dead-to-the-world troll and quickly went through the other door. As soon as the door closed, purple flames flared up, blocking it. He turned and saw black flames covering the door on the other side. He recognized the magic and energy instantly. “Severus,” he said.

There in the middle of the chamber sat a table with seven different shaped bottles in a line, neatly organized, just like the man.

“A troll?” Michael started off. “ _That_ was what was blocking Snape? The same Snape who just _flamed_ locked _us_ in here? The one who’s supposed to be working with You-Know-Who?”

“I know,” Draco agreed. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“Then either we’re missing something, or it’s not Snape,” Terry said.

Hermione, Ron, and Harry had moved on to the table, but Draco was getting distracted as he walked further into the chamber. The magic that had left its residue throughout their journey was stronger in here, coming from the other side of the black flames. He approached the black flames with his palms out, assessing.

He gasped when it hit him, and he punched out his arms, palms facing the flames, bracing himself.

“Draco?” someone called.

“It’s the Dark Lord,” Draco said. “He’s behind this door.”

The Dark magic pulsed, making Draco bracing himself more. His hands were shaking - his whole right arm was shaking from Cove’s attempt to help him hold his shields.

He was advanced, yes. He was powerful in his own right, sure. He had been having private lessons with three powerful professors all year, unfailing. But he was eleven! He was a _child!_ He couldn’t handle this! And _this,_ this wasn’t a weakened, desperate Dark Lord. This was a delighted, adrenalized Dark Lord, channeling his power through… through _something._

_Merlin, what if it was the Stone?_

“His eyes are turning yellow!” someone yelled.

The Dark magic pulsed again. It seemed to recognize him as much as he recognized it. It flashed out, stinging his senses. Draco cried out and fell to his knees, tried pushing the energy away, hold onto himself. A noise started coming from Cove, and distantly he realized his whole body was shaking with effort now.

He pushed against the Dark energy again, forcing it back. Surprisingly, this time he was successful. He stood the best he could, arms shaking but straight, palms out. He forced his Empathy through the flames, which stung and made him cry out again. He didn’t stop though. He closed his eyes and focused on the next room. This might be the end of the journey for him, but he could make sure the others weren’t surprised by something.

“ _Aaarrghh_ ,” he grunted. “The Dark Lord is in there. So… so is someone else,” he paused to cry out again, and he could feel the Dark magic pushing back. In fact, he was being physically pushed back by it, his feet sliding on the ground. He bent his knees more to stop it. “And… and… Yes, Dumbledore’s magic. Dumbledore… Dumbledore isn’t in there, though.” He cried out again, and then with a sickening realization, he noticed the Dark magic suddenly attempting to pull him in. He recognized the signs from the Ravenclaws’ research. “No!” he cried. “I’m Diverting! Help!”

Hands were on him instantly, emphasizing how badly he was shaking by how steady they were. Something cold was pressed to his lips as strong hands forced his jaw opened, and what had to be liquidized ice was poured down his throat. As he pushed the Dark magic away, struggling with it, arms were around his waist, and he was being pulled away. Purple swam his vision for a moment, then his senses were assaulted by what he recognized as troll.

He cried out again, trying to stand, trying to run, but he was shaking so horribly he couldn’t hold himself up. It was too much. Many arms were holding him up instead, hauling him backward. The troll’s magic and energy were ripped away as suddenly as it came, and the press of _McGonagall_ overloaded his senses. He cried out yet again, the Dark magic still attempting to pull at him through the chambers.

He heard shouting and voices, and from where he was, facing the door they just came from, he thought he saw someone running through it, someone who had very powerful, Light magic.

Then, Severus’ face swam his vision.

“ _Focus!”_ Severus shook him. “Mindfulness! Now! Five things you can see.”

He remembered this. It had to be only of the outside world. He blinked several times, crying out once more as he tried to use his throat. He widened his eyes, desperately searching out. When he spoke, he noticed even in his state, his voice sounded so strained that it might snap. “You. I see Severus…” His vision seemed as shaky as the rest of him, but something blurry came into focus a moment. “A pawn…” He tried looking around again, and his eyes found Hermione’s. “Hermione…”

“Good,” he heard Severus say. “Two more. Name two more things you can see.”

It was beginning to hurt, but he made himself look around again. “Torch… Michael…”

“Good,” Severus said. “Name four things you can hear.”

Draco slammed his eyes shut, forcing himself to focus.

“Footsteps… Someone crying… Someone whispering… a door slamming…”

“Three things you can feel,” Severus instructed. Draco breathing was getting easier, he noticed. Focusing on his body, he said, “Hands… people holding me… stone floor on my knees…” And Severus very tightly holding his face.

“Two things you can smell.”

Draco sniffed and immediately began coughing. “Blood,” he said. “I just smell blood.”

“No, name something else,” Severus said sternly.

It took what felt like the rest of his energy to try to find a smell past blood – somewhere in his brain he realized his nose was bleeding – but finally, he was able to grunt out, “Sweat. I smell sweat.”

“Taste.”

“Blood.”

“Good. Now, open your eyes.”

Draco did and was glad to see his vision had cleared significantly.

“Very good, Draco. You’re no longer Diverting.”

“’Kay. Can I Submerge now?”

With a very grim frown, Severus nodded his head once.

Draco let go. He let go of his control, his restraint, his shields, and his singed magic and wrecked senses seem to implode. He knew he was screaming again, knew his body was bending in shapes it shouldn’t bend, knew probably more than his nose was bleeding, and then knew nothing more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah?
> 
> Oh, and, Mindfulness is an actually thing. I have found it to be a really good tool in anxiety and depression.


	9. Oh, To Fly Where We Want

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That's this done, then. As is obvious, there are some dialogue throughout this entire fic that is straight from the book. I tried to keep to the main plot points as much as possible. 
> 
> For my part, the events around the Stone in this fic reflect what have always been my interpretation of what was really going on at Hogwarts. How the Stone was kept and all never made since to me unless it was a trap. I hope that made for an enjoyable read!
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!!
> 
>  
> 
> Update and note: I wrote and posted this really rather quickly , so these last couple of days I've been going through and correcting mistakes. I think it's okay now, but if anyone sees any, feel free to let me know. Apologies to those who read before the corrections - and praise for looking past them. You guys rock!
> 
> Note part, in my corrections, I realized I listed Flitwick as one of the professors 'guarding' the Stone, even though I don't think he originally was in the books, and the characters didn't go through a Flitwick challenge. I was going to take it out, but then I thought of a sensible excuse that helps the school look like it was more protective of its students, so I'll put that in at the beginning of the Second Book.

Draco’s journey back into consciousness was a slow, deliberate one that Draco was pretty sure was conducted by someone else. More specifically, _something_ else that usually made its home between leather and Draco’s forearm. He started to become aware of his surroundings, just small things that didn’t hold much weight, such as, he knew he was lying in a bed. He knew the blankets were soft. He knew it was quiet where he was. He knew someone was holding his hand. Then those things faded and new ones came, such as his skin feeling tingly, pleasantly so. Then that faded too.

Next, he noticed the soft blankets again, and this time he remembered them. He noticed a sweet smell of lavender but forgot it. A hand was on his wrist. It was a comforting hand, a happy hand, and he tried to reach for it, but his hand could only jerk and that was it.

Then, it was like he was coming back to the world in pieces, quite the opposite of Mindfulness.

First, he could taste. His mouth felt cool from where it hung slightly opened, but the back of his mouth was hot, heated, and left the breath coming from it a bit stale. His lips were a bit chapped as well. For a while, that was all he noticed.

He didn’t know how long it was between that and his smelling coming back, but it didn’t much matter to him. His smell was sharp, crisp, and held his focus a lot better than his mouth did. He could smell many things: clean laundry, lavender from somewhere on his right, the small disinfectant smell left by _Scourgify_ , soap, potions, even some ingredients in the potions. It was wonderful! After a time, a multitude of other smells came around him, many of them grouped around each other like they were trying to create three separate smells. One of them left and soon was replaced by a whole new group of smells. People, he realized later. He was smelling the people around him. Each person and their smells were connected to something important, he knew, and they gave him a positive feeling.

Touch came next, to add to taste and smell. It was slow, like easing into a hot bath, and it was even better than smelling. He was warm, he was comfortable, he was surrounded by soft fabric, and whatever he was lying on was soft. At one point, some other skin connected with his skin, a hand in his hand, and he squeezed it, enjoying the sensation. It was associated with one of the group of smells he was becoming familiar with again. After a while, the hand left him, but that was okay. What had been laying over him, keeping him warm, was brought up to his shoulders, and he felt comfortable and drifted off to sleep.

When he woke up again sometime later, he noticed he could hear. It was quiet, but he could hear a crackling of a fire and the usual sounds of the castle.

Unfortunately, with consciousness and hearing came all his memories.

He was much, much too weak to even open his eyes, and he had a feeling that even if he tried, he wouldn’t be able to see. That was when he realized his Occlumency shields were up and iron tight, no doubt by Cove who sat happily in its sheath, helping heal Draco. After running inventory on himself, he found he could really only kind of wiggle his fingers and toes. He let himself be content with that.

After some time, he had no idea how long, someone came around checking on him. Madam Pomfrey. She brushed the hair away from his forehead and sighed. “I don’t like having you here, Mr. Malfoy. What made you think you could run after You-Know-Who like that? You better wake up soon, or I’ll be forced to keep you over the summer.”

He could tell by the fondness in her voice that she was more worried than genuinely upset with him. It was touching.

“You, too, Mr. Potter,” she said, voice a little further away. He realized she was talking to someone – Harry – who was in the next bed. “There was no need for any of you to get involved; no need at all. Meddlesome, you are. You’ll be up by noon, so you better think of an excuse while you have time.”

If Draco could, he would have snorted.

She fussed over them, Draco belatedly realizing Harry must have been unconscious, then left the room.

Draco let his mind wander as Pomfrey and Cove’s healing did their thing. He thought back to the chess game, and if he took the fear out of it, it probably would be fun. He daydreamed of playing giant wizard chess with significantly less risk with his friends for a long while, each time with Terry making that _squawk_ sound. Sure, the rest of them had squawked in a way at one point or another, but that one… that was beautiful.

It had to have been several hours before someone other than Pomfrey came in the room. If he had his shields lowered, he would have been able to identify them, but as it stood, he could only wait.

Luckily, he didn’t have to wait long. Sounds of movement on the next bed caught his attention. Harry made some small sounds, then Dumbledore’s voice spoke.

“Good afternoon, Harry.”

Harry croaked, then rushed, “Sir! The Stone! It was Quirrell! He’s got the Stone! Sir, quick – “

“Calm yourself, dear boy, you are a little behind the times,” Dumbledore interrupted. Him and Draco both, Draco thought. Quirrell? Really? “Quirrell does not have the Stone.”

“Then who does? Sir, I –“

“Harry, please relax, or Madam Pomfrey will have me thrown out.”

Again, if Draco could, he would have snorted. Silence was met with that, Harry adjusting himself in his bed, by the sounds of it. After a few moments, Dumbledore spoke again.

“Tokens from your friends and admirers. What happened down in the dungeons between you and Professor Quirrell is a complete secret, so, naturally, the whole school knows. I believe your friends Mr. Fred and George Weasley were responsible for trying to send you a toilet seat. No doubt they thought it would amuse you. Madam Pomfrey, however, felt it might not be very hygienic, and confiscated it.”

Dumbledore sounded highly amused himself. Draco made a note to find out what the private joke was between Harry and the Weasley twins that would involve a toilet seat.

“How long have we been in here?” Harry asked. He sounded much calmer but very worried.

“Three days. Miss Granger and Misters Weasley, Boot, Corner, and Goldstein will be most relieved you have come round. They have been extremely worried.”

“But, sir, the Stone – “

“I see you are not to be distracted. Very well, the Stone. Professor Quirrell did not manage to take it from you. I arrived in time to prevent that, although you were doing very well on your own, I must say.”

“You got there? You got Terry’s owl?”

“I did. You and your friends figured everything out; I was impressed. I am told you all knew it was a trap for Voldemort? I had planned on returning sometime during the night to take care of it. Without Mr. Boot’s owl, I would not have arrived just in time to pull Quirrell off you – “

“It was _you._ ”

“I was further delayed since you took the last of the potion to get through Professor Snape’s flames. It took me several minutes to get through. I feared I might be too late.”

“You nearly were, I couldn’t have kept him off the Stone much longer – “

“Not the Stone, boy, you – the effort involved nearly killed you. For one terrible moment there, I was afraid it had. As for the Stone, it has been destroyed.”

“Destroyed?” Harry said blankly. “But your friend – Nicolas Flamel – “

“Oh, you know about Nicolas?” Dumbledore said, sounding quite delighted. “You _did_ do the thing properly, didn’t you?”

“Draco,” Harry interrupted. “He told us who Nicolas Flamel is.”

“Ah,” Dumbledore hummed, sounding pleased. “I believe, over time, there will be very little Mr. Malfoy will not know. As for Nicolas, well, he and I have had a little chat, and agreed it’s all for the best.”

“But that means he and his wife will die, won’t they?”

“They have enough Elixir stored to set their affairs in order and then, yes, they will die.”

Draco wanted to roll his eyes. Clearly, Nicolas and his wife were already planning on destroying the Stone if they allowed Dumbledore to use it as bait. Dumbledore didn’t need to sound like it was all his idea. Although, it might have been, for all Draco knew. He was just glad, at least, that _Harry_ didn’t die. It sounded like it was a close call.

Harry must have done something to prompt Dumbledore to continue, because Dumbledore added, “To one as young as you, I’m sure it seems incredible, but to Nicolas and Perenelle, it really is like going to bed after a very, _very_ long day. After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure. You know, the Stone was really not such a wonderful thing. As much money and life as you could want! The two things most human beings would choose above all – the trouble is, humans do have a knack for choosing precisely those things that are worst for them.”

Draco agreed. It was still a shame the Stone was destroyed though. They could have learned a lot from it. He wondered if Terry, Michael, and Anthony got to see it beforehand.

Dumbledore began humming, which was annoying. Dumbledore was wise but sneaky. Draco felt like he would like him better if he didn’t always hide his hand. He wondered why Dumbledore sounded so happy that Harry and Draco knew certain pieces of his puzzle and decided to ask him out-right when he could.

Eventually, Harry spoke up again. “Sir? I’ve been thinking… Sir – even if the Stone’s gone, Vol-, I mean, You-Know-Who – “

“Call him Voldemort, Harry.” Draco internally groaned. Harry did _not_ need encouragement in that area. “Always use the proper name for things. Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself.”

No offense, Draco thought, but _Voldemort_ was already pretty damn scary.

“Yes, sir. Well, Voldemort’s – “ Merlin, it was a good thing Draco couldn’t move or he’d have flinched himself off the bed by now – “going to try other ways of coming back, isn’t he? I mean, he hasn’t gone, has he?”

“No, Harry, he has not.” Draco felt a chill run through him. His father always suspected as much. “He is still out there somewhere, perhaps looking for another body to share… not being truly alive, he cannot be killed. He left Quirrell to die; he shows just as little mercy to his followers as his enemies. Nevertheless, Harry, while you may only have delayed his return to power, it will merely take someone else who is prepared to fight what seems a losing battle next time – and if he is delayed again, and again, why, he may never return to power.”

It wasn’t just about being delayed, Draco thought. He had help. Alone, he wasn’t much of a threat. He wondered if his parents were told the truth about what happened. If his father knew the Dark Lord was still alive, would he help him return to power?

“Sir,” Harry cut through Draco’s musing, “there are some other things I’d like to know, if you can tell me… things I want to know the truth about…”

Ha! Tap dance now, Headmaster.

“The truth,” Dumbledore sighed. “It is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should, therefore, be treated with great caution. However, I shall answer your questions unless I have a very good reason not to, in which case I beg you’ll forgive me. I shall not, of course, lie.”

Crafty old bag! Draco thought. It was more than what Draco ever got from him, but that was still a piss poor excuse. ‘Good reason not to’, and good reasons he’d keep to himself, of course.

“Well,” Harry began. “Voldemort – “ oh, sweet, mother of… “ – said that he only killed my mother because she tried to stop him from killing me. But why would he want to kill me in the first place?”

Dumbledore’s very deep sigh was Harry’s only answer at first. Then, “Alas, the first thing you ask me, I cannot tell you. Not today. Not now. You will know, one day… put it from your mind, for now, Harry. When you are older… I know you hate to hear this… when you are ready, you will know.”

Right, Draco thought, like how _not_ knowing about his Weakness because he was _too young_ worked out well for him.

“But,” Harry pressed on, “why couldn’t Quirrell touch me?”

“Your mother died to save you. If there is one thing Voldemort – “ maybe he could get them to say a different name, like Voldy or something – “cannot understand, it is love. He didn’t realize that love as powerful as your mother’s for you left its own mark. Not a scar, no visible sign… to have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever. It is in your very skin. Quirrell, full of hatred, greed, and ambition, sharing his soul with Voldemort – “now he was just nauseous  “ - could not touch you for this reason. It was agony to touch a person marked by something so good.”

Draco didn’t quite know how to buy that and decided to look into protection spells.

It took a long time for Harry to answer, and Draco didn’t doubt he was deeply moved by Dumbledore’s monologue. Draco didn’t want to feel what he might if he put down his shields, so he didn’t argue with Cove as Cove strengthened them.

“Do you know who sent me my father’s Cloak?”

“Ah – your father happened to leave it in my possession, and I thought you might like it.” Dumbledore’s voice was calm and gentle. “Useful thing… you father used it mainly for sneaking off to the kitchens to steal food when he was here.”

“Does Snape really hate me because of my father? Draco’s suggested it a few times, and Quirrell said so too.”

“ _Professor_ Snape,” Dumbledore corrected. “They did rather detest each other. Not unlike yourself and Mr. Nott. And then, your father did something Professor Snape could never forgive.”

“What?”

“He saved his life.”

“ _What?”_

“Yes…” Dumbledore said dreamily. “Funny, the way people’s minds work, isn’t it? Professor Snape couldn’t bear being in your father’s debt… I do believe he worked so hard to protect you this year because he felt that would make him and your father even. Then he could go back to hating your father’s memory in peace…”

After a few moments, Harry asked, “How did I get the Stone out of the mirror?” Mirror? Remembering Harry’s summary of his Christmas, he thought maybe the Mirror of Erised? He thought it was odd that mirror would just be loose in the castle – especially if Dumbledore himself had to warn a student away from it. Was perhaps, instead, it was a clue Dumbledore left for the Dark Lord to find?

“Ah, now, I’m glad you asked me that. It was one of my more brilliant ideas, and between you and me, that’s saying something.” Again, if Draco could snort. “You see, only one who wanted to _find_ the Stone – find it, but not use it – would be able to get it, otherwise they’d just see themselves making gold or drinking Elixir of Life.” The Mirror of Erised, then. So, the Stone really was safe the whole time. The Dark Lord and Quirrell would have worked on that mirror all night with no success. Dumbledore used their desperation and ambition to lock them in – the children needn’t have worried.

Harry seemed to be thinking along the same lines. “So, the Stone was safe the whole time.”

“Yes, Harry. My brain surprises even me, sometimes…”

They were quiet again for a few moments, then Harry said, “Sir, just one more thing…”

“Just the one?”

“Why is Draco so affected by Voldemort?” Holy Tryon, it was so much worse in the same sentence as Draco’s name. “I mean, I get why my scar might hurt – he was the one who put it there – but Voldemort had fallen by time, whatever happened to Draco, happened.”

“Yes, well…” Dumbledore hummed. He seemed to be thinking of the best way to answer. When he spoke again, his voice was much closer, this time between their two beds. “As Misters Boots, Corner, and Goldstein have already told Mrs. Granger and Mr. Weasley, and will no doubt tell you, too, I suppose I can share some of what I know.”

Draco was a bit angry that Dumbledore was so secretive about _his_ things, but felt free to tell Draco’s. But, Draco was going to have to tell Harry anyway – the others already knew, apparently – and it was kind of better than having to do it himself.

“Mr. Malfoy is an Empath.”

“What’s an Empath?”

“An Empath is a witch or wizard who is very, very sensitive to what’s around them, in a nutshell. Mr. Malfoy can sense and physically feel magic, as well as other people’s emotions, energies, and, I suspect, more celestial things. His father has done a lot of damage where Mr. Malfoy’s Empathy is concerned. He wouldn’t allow Mr. Malfoy to use it or train it, only suppress it, which had made him increasingly more sensitive each time he used his Empathy. I believe Voldemort – “ Merlin, stop! “ – has such an extreme effect on Mr. Malfoy because, as we said before, Voldemort is not truly alive. He does not have a conductor, if you will, for his magic and energy. A body. He is pure magical energy, Dark magic at that, as well as Dark emotions. It overloads Mr. Malfoy’s senses to the point of Submerging.”

“What’s that?” Harry asked hurriedly. “They kept saying that. And Diverting. And I think Michael mentioned a Harnessing?”

“Now, now, Harry, enough questions. I suggest you make a start on these sweets. Ah! Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans! I was unfortunate enough in my youth to come across a vomit-flavored one, and since then, I’m afraid I’ve rather lost my liking for them – but I think I’ll be safe with a nice toffee, don’t you?”

A moment later, there was a choking sound and Dumbledore said, “Alas! Ear wax!”

*~*~*~*

His strength started coming back by the time their friends visited. Harry had to go to the lengths of standing to prove how much better he was to convince Madam Pomfrey to let them in, and Draco smiled internally. Pomfrey would move heaven and earth to get someone to lie down if she felt they needed rest.

“ _Harry!_ ” Hermione squeaked.

“You’re really up!” he heard Terry say.

“Really am, yeah,” laughed Harry. By the sound of it, the other five took turns hugging him - telling Harry how worried they had been, if Harry knew how Draco was - what he supposed was the usual greeting for circumstances such as this. Their friends made themselves comfortable around both their beds, and Harry began telling them what happened after he went through the door. Their friends were great audiences, gasping at all the right places, then Harry explained why Quirrell couldn’t touch him, and Draco was amused by the Ravenclaws' speculation about protection spells.

Draco couldn’t help but notice Harry left out some bits, such as, the Dark Lord would most likely try to rise again, or that the Dark Lord had killed his mother because he was actually there to kill _Harry_ and she wouldn’t step away.

“So,” Harry finished. “What about you? You got Draco out alright?”

“Yeah, but it was awful,” Ron answered.

“It took all of us to pull him out of the room,” Michael added.

“Dumbledore and the other teachers had arrived by the time we got back to the chess board. Dumbledore went after you, of course, but McGonagall and Snape went straight for Draco,” Hermione said.

“Yeah,” Terry agreed. “Severus had to get right in Draco’s face. Had him do – what is called?”

“Mindfulness,” Anthony put in. “Snape made Draco name five things he could see, four things he could hear, three things he could feel, two things he could smell, and one thing he could taste.”

“What?” Harry said incredulously. “In the _shape_ Draco was in?”

“Yeah,” Hermione’s quiet voice said. “You couldn’t believe the struggle Draco went through to do it. His nose started bleeding, and one of his ears bled. He was convulsing.”

“Once he was done,” Ron added, “Snape said he wasn’t Diverting? Or something? Then Draco asked if he could Submerge then, and when Snape nodded, all hell broke loose.”

“It was terrible,” Hermione explained. “He was screaming like... like he was being tortured, and his body was all twisted.”

“I was afraid he might break his back,” Ron added.

“Snape had to toss several spells at him to get him unconscious. He’s been like that ever since. I overheard Dumbledore telling Snape he… Retreated?”

“What is that?” Harry asked. “You guys keep throwing out terms like that. What are they?”

There was silence for several moments until Ron let out a frustrated grunt and said, “They won’t tell us!”

“What? Why?” Harry asked.

“It’s not our shit to tell,” Terry said back, angrily. “We only told you he’s an Empath because we knew you wouldn’t ever leave it alone. But you should have respect enough for your friend to let him have the choice of what you know about him or not!”

Silence again, then Hermione said, “You’re right. I know, we know, you’re right. We’re just worried.”

“And you should be,” Anthony said gravely.

“I’ve seen him react like you say he did twice,” Harry said. “This time was the worst. Dumbledore said he thinks it’s because of Voldemort – “ thank you, Dumbledore. Harry would always say Voldemort now, wouldn’t he? “- doesn’t have a body. Draco doesn’t have anything to put between his Empathy and him. Voldemort is just magical energy – Dark magical energy. So, I guess, in a way, Draco was being tortured.”

“I feel kind of guilty, y’know,” Ron said. “I mean… Draco can sense our emotions. Knowing him now, and knowing what he is, and thinking back to the beginning of the year…”

“Feeling like an arse now?” Michael laughed.

“That’s one way of putting it,” Ron agreed.

Michael, Terry, and Anthony soon left, and Hermione moved to sit at the end of Draco’s bed, Ron remaining at the end of Harry’s bed. Draco had a suspicion it was Hermione who had been holding his hand. Unless Pansy had been allowed to visit.

“Why do you think they’re being so secretive about Draco?” Ron asked as soon as he could.

“I’m not sure,” Hermione said. “I looked through the books the library has on Empaths, and they don’t mention anything about Submerging or what else. I asked about them, but Pince said all books about it are prohibited to students.”

“What?” Harry asked, clearly surprised. “Why?”

“Probably for the same reason the others won’t tell us about it. I don’t think they were prohibited until Hogwarts had an Empath student.”

“Do you think it’s dangerous?” Harry asked.

“Not for us, I don’t think,” Hermione answered. “I think it’s dangerous for Draco. You should have seen him, Harry. I don’t know what Diverting is, but when it was happening, his eyes were completely white, which is never a good sign. He looked like he was barely holding on.”

“Yeah, and you remember how much the others didn’t want Draco going down there. They didn’t want him anywhere near You-Know-Who,” said Ron.

“We think they were terrified about what could have happened. What almost happened.”

“But it did happen, didn’t it?” Harry asked.

“Snape talked him back from whatever was about to happen.”

“With the Mindfulness thing?”

“Yeah,” Ron answered. “It worked. His eyes went back to normal – well, his normal. Well, before they turned yellow and he started screaming.”

“Dumbledore told me something else,” Harry said. “He said Draco’s dad really hurt him, or his Empathy. He wouldn’t allow Draco to use it. He made him suppress his Empathy, which made it more and more sensitive each time he used it.”

“Blimey,” Ron scoffed. “How did he survive coming to Hogwarts?”

There wasn’t a verbal answer, then Harry said, “The other teachers have been helping him, I think.”

Draco didn’t much like them talking about him, but he was glad Harry wasn’t all-out telling them about Draco’s lessons. They would probably have had this conversation, anyway, and at least this way he got to hear it.

“We’ve talked about it before,” Hermione began. “About Draco’s home life…”

“Malfoy is a right git,” Ron snarled, and Draco couldn’t disagree.

“Remember how he looked coming back from Christmas?” Hermione asked.

“It’s not our business,” Harry interrupted. “Draco knows we’re there for him. We’ll check in on him during the summer, and if we feel like something’s going on, we’ll… owl Flitwick or something.”

They were silent for a little longer, then Hermione asked, “How do you feel about going home, Harry?”

That got Draco’s attention. He really didn’t like her tone.

“I don’t know,” Harry sighed. “They were scared of me before I left. They still might be. They don’t know I can’t do magic outside of school, so I’m hoping they’ll just ignore me.”

“At least you have a bedroom now,” Ron said.

“I can’t believe where you slept before,” Hermione huffed.

“It wasn’t so bad,” Harry mumbled.

“Harry, they made you sleep in a cupboard,” Hermione said sternly.

“I don’t want to talk about,” Harry said just as sternly.

Ron sighed. “We’ll have to check-in on both of them,” Ron said, undoubtedly towards Hermione.

“It’ll be fine. You should worry more about Draco. He’s the one that came back with bruises.”

“So far,” Hermione pointed out.

Draco and Cove were outraged by what he was overhearing. He wanted to demand answers, make Harry tell him _everything_ , find out who those muggles were and hex them. Instead, he ended up making a broken grunt sound, and his right hand did a kind of stuttering twitch.

“Draco?” Hermione asked. She moved closer and took his hand. In response, Draco squeezed it.

“Is he waking up?” Harry asked.

“I don’t know,” Hermione said. “He did this yesterday too. It took a while for me to get my hand back.”

“So you go and give it to him again?” Ron said though Draco could hear some fondness in his voice.

“He’s an _Empath_ , Ronald. We don’t know what Retreating is, but I think we can take an educated guess, can’t you?”

“Uh…” Ron said ungracefully.

“You… you think he’s, like, trapped in there or something?” Harry asked, mild panic in his voice.

“I don’t know,” Hermione said sadly. “I…” she started, then stopped.

“What?” Ron and Harry asked.

“When I was leaving, last night, I saw McGonagall and Snape outside. I know I shouldn’t’ve, but I hid behind one of the armors and listened in. I didn’t hear much, but…”

“But what?” Harry asked at the same time Ron said, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because Terry’s right, this is Draco’s thing. Not to mention I was busy in the library looking it up.”

Only Hermione could be simultaneously respectful and nosy.

“What did you hear, Hermione?” Harry asked.

“Just that… That when an Empath Retreats fully, they have to pull themselves out of it. I heard McGonagall say it could take anywhere from mere minutes to… years,” she finished quietly.

“Years?!” Harry yelped.

“I don’t think they’re too worried, though,” Hermione tried.

“Hermione, are you saying you think Draco is… is what? Locked inside himself, and he might be for years?”

“Like a coma?” Ron asked.

“I don’t know,” Hermione snapped. “I just… He’s an Empath, regardless. Holding his hand might help him wake up.”

They were silent for a moment, then Draco heard movement on Harry’s bed. Hermione made some kind of noise and pried her hand out of Draco’s. Another hand immediately took its place, and Hermione moved to the other side of the bed, grabbing Draco’s other hand.

“Here, mate,” he heard Ron say and the sound of a chair being pushed filled the air. Harry was obviously going to sit by Draco’s bedside and hold his hand. Affection flared from Cove, and Draco squeezed Harry’s hand a little harder.

“Do you think he can hear us?” Harry asked.

“Merlin, I hope not,” Ron said.

They went on to deliberate theories of what the other Empath terms might mean. Merlin, he cared for his Gryffindors, he really did, but they were _nosy_. It was no wonder they found out about the Stone and everything involved. They found an itch and kept scratching. Harry had _just_ woken up from the entire ordeal of the Stone, that he no doubt spent the school year obsessing over, only to find something else to pick at. The most amusing part was that, in the absence of the Ravenclaws, Hermione seemed to fill the logic-void.

Madam Pomfrey eventually came in and shooed Ron and Hermione out, but Harry was able to convince her to let him stay where he was. Draco was a little offended if he was honest. Harry seemed to get away with a lot more with her than Draco ever did.

Still, he did like the contact. It was kind of Harry to try to help in that way.

A little time past, then Harry began to speak.

“I don’t know if you can hear me or not. I guess if you can, I should be embarrassed, us talking about you like that. We’re just worried though…

“It was brave of you, you know. Putting yourself in danger like that to help us get through to the Stone… It must be hard, being an Empath. I mean, every now and then I can feel the power in my wand. Especially when I first held it… But I’m terrible at reading people, aren’t I? This whole time I thought Snape was… But he was trying to protect me all year. I guess you knew, though, huh? You’d be able to feel if he was Dark or whatever.

“Quirrell told me it was him who tried to hex my broom that one match. I knew I wouldn’t’ve died – it seems silly now to think that I would. I probably would’ve just broken a leg or something. I bet Voldemort would have loved to see that, just for the fun of it. Have a good laugh over it. But, Snape, he tried to prevent it. He didn’t want me hurt.”

Draco flexed his fingers a little, letting his hand slack just enough to squeeze Harry’s again.

“Can you hear me, Draco?”

Draco repeated the motion.

“Squeeze my hand twice if you can hear me.”

Draco tried, he really did, but his hand stopped cooperating, only jerking in a little spasm.

“Oh… well. I guess that’s just you trying to come out, isn’t it? I hope this is helping. I’ll have to stay here another night, and while I’m here, I can do this. I hope you wake up soon, though. Term is over in a couple of days. I don’t want to leave without saying goodbye. It’s going to be a long two months as is.”

Harry fell silent. Madam Pomfrey set his chair up with pillows and a blanket – her compromise for letting him stay there, so Draco wasn’t too worried about him. Harry then sandwiched Draco’s hand with both of his, thumb rubbing the skin by his wrist.

“You were awesome down there, you know. Your eyes are a deep purple when you’re… doing whatever it was that you were doing. Feeling around, I guess. It’s really cool you can tell which magic is whose. I wonder if your Empathy can tell that it’s me right now, next to you.”

Harry didn’t say anymore, just rested next to Draco until Madam Pomfrey came to make sure he got into bed. She checked over Harry, then moved to check over Draco. “Oh good,” she said. “I wondered if you were awake this morning, but I think this proves it.”

“He’s awake?” Harry asked.

“That he is. I’d wager he’s been conscious all day. It will just take a while to get his body to catch up.”

“All… _all_ day?” Harry asked, and Draco could only internally smirk.

“Possibly. He might have slept some. As soon as we can get him to open his eyes, we’ll be able to give him some strengthening potions, but it looks like the worse is over.”

Pomfrey tucked Draco’s blankets around him tightly, stroked his hair, and bid Harry a goodnight. A little while later, Draco heard a soft, “’Night, Draco.” It was not long after that Draco was able to drift off to sleep, possibly with the help of Cove.

*~*~*~*

When Draco woke back up, he was able to open his eyes. Of course, he slammed them shut immediately because of the light

He groaned, long and gargled. His head hurt. How could it _not_ have hurt the day before when it felt like _this_ now? Did sleeping make him worse? His whole body was sore. He scrunched up his face and groaned again, for good measure.

“Draco?”

Harry. He was holding his hand again. Draco squeezed it and tried to talk.

“Draco? Are you awake? Open your eyes.”

Draco blinked them open, adjusting to the light. It was slow going, but eventually, he was able to keep them open.

“Hey,” Harry smiled down at him. “Your eyes are back to normal.”

Draco took in Harry’s appearance. He was little pale, looked very tired, and had some scrapes and bruises.

“You’re hurt,” he wheezed out.

“I’m fine,” Harry smiled. “Better off than you.”

“Hello, dear,” Madam Pomfrey popped over. “We need you to take these, alright?”

Pomfrey helped hold his head up for him to drink the potions. The first one eased his pain considerable, the second one helped make everything less bright and loud, and the third one seemed to give him a little strength. Pomfrey fluffed up his pillows, helping him sit up a little, and asked, “How are you feeling?”

“As the muggles say,” he began in a weak voice, “like I’ve been hit by a truck.”

“I’m afraid you used that one last time,” Pomfrey smiled at him.

“Right. Bus, then. Like I’ve be hit by a bus.”

Pomfrey chuckled. “I’ll go get the Headmaster.”

She made a graceful exit, and Harry went to let go of his hand. Cove did not like that, however, and Draco held on tight. Harry let him. He closed his eyes to center himself and gently touched his shields. They were sore, but strong and not iron clad. Cove let him lower them just enough to sense Harry.

Harry was mostly relieved, but he was also worried, hesitant, and a bit embarrassed.

Draco found himself smiling. With his eyes still closed, he said, “There’s no need to be embarrassed, Harry.” His voice was still entirely too weak for his liking, but he was able to get his amusement through.

“Oh, er… Right. Uh. About yesterday…”

“I heard everything,” Draco confirmed, keeping his eyes closed. “We should have known better than to think Dumbledore would take the risk of leaving the Stone exposed. Also, I don’t agree with him not telling you why the Dark Lord was after you as a baby. He thought I was too young to know about certain problems with my Empathy, and that didn’t really do anyone any favors. Imagine if we went after the Stone with me not knowing.”

Harry took a moment to answer, then said, “Sorry. We discussed you a lot yesterday, didn’t we?”

Draco shrugged. “You Gryffindors have a fun new puzzle. I can’t blame you.”

“You’re not a puzzle,” Harry immediately said, some defensiveness and protectiveness flowing from him.

Draco peeked an eye open at him and smirked. “Yeah, I am.”

Harry snorted, and then the doors opened. Dumbledore came strolling in, and Cove adjusted his shields to allow Dumbledore in as well. He stopped at the end of Draco’s bed and smiled at him. “Draco. Nice to have you back.”

“Nice to be back,” Draco answered.

“Harry, why don’t you step out a moment?” Dumbledore asked.

“No,” Draco immediately said as a reflex to Cove’s nudging. He held strong his grip on Harry’s hand.

“No?” Dumbledore raised an eyebrow.

Draco shrugged, enjoying the movement of his shoulders. “Cove’s demands.”

“Ah,” Dumbledore nodded. “I did wonder where Cove was getting its energy.”

“Harry and Hermione, seems like.”

“Cove?” Harry tentatively asked.

Dumbledore looked towards Draco, but Draco shimmed further into his comfortable bed, making a show of it. “You tell him. I’m in hospital.”

Dumbledore chuckled and shook his head, waves of humor and fondness rolling off him. Maybe Draco had clout with the Headmaster after all.

“Cove is Mr. Malfoy's wand,” Dumbledore explained. “Empaths usually will have a special relationship with their wands, but Mr. Malfoy's bond already exceeds beyond most. His wand is rare and special, you see. Cove is its name.”

“Brilliant,” Harry smiled.

“You can’t tell anyone,” Draco said.

“I won’t,” Harry promised.

“And you can’t tell anyone what we might discuss right now. I heard everything between you two yesterday,” Draco informed Dumbledore. “So, I guess even trade,” Draco said towards Harry. “You keep your mouth shut about mine, I’ll keep my mouth shut about yours.”

Harry nodded eagerly, then looked towards Dumbledore.

“Very well,” Dumbledore agreed. He conjured a chair and sat on Draco’s other side. “I take it you have questions as well?”

“Of course,” Draco nodded. Dumbledore gestured for him to go on, and Draco asked, “My first question is, why were you so happy that Harry and I knew who Nicolas was?”

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised. “I was impressed and proud. To show good investigative skills so young is quite an accomplishment. It shows great potential for who you both will become.”

Draco felt around with his Empathy, and it felt like Dumbledore was being truthful. However, his months of studying psychology didn’t go unused. “You’re handing out half-truths and misleading platitudes again, Professor. With all due respect, there is such a thing called lies of omission. Did you or did you not leave little clues all over the place for the Dark Lord to find?”

Dumbledore smiled. “I did.”

“I’ve spent all year learning from you, Professor. I know you. There is no way it didn’t occur to you that others would find your clues. You knew Harry was one of them, didn’t you?”

Dumbledore gave a small nod. “I did.”

“Harry and I don’t show good investigative skills. I’m good at research and logic. Harry’s like a dog with a bone and a little too nosy for his own good. We weren’t _showing_ investigative skills. You allowed pieces of your dangerous trap for the Dark Lord to _teach_ us investigative skills, and I, for one, am unhappy with you for it.”

Dumbledore gave another small nod, turning very serious, guilt and shame rolling off him in waves. “I am unhappy with myself for it as well, Draco. Though I did watch as Harry here gathering information, and you helping steer him to more solid theories, I never imagined a group of eleven-year-olds would try to stop Voldemort from getting the Stone, let alone actually find a way to get past all our obstacles.”

Draco flinched rather badly at the name. “That’s another thing. I get the whole fear thing, I do, but how about we take that further? Call him Voldy or something. We replace fear with something funny and ridiculous.”

Dumbledore laughed, and Harry sniggered.

“I shall try to remember,” Dumbledore pacified him.

“I’m still unhappy with you,” Draco repeated. “I probably wouldn’t be if you didn’t sound so happy about it yesterday.”

“Yes. You are a very honest person, Draco. I imagine you must have felt a little betrayed. I admit, I take my own sense of accomplishment that you both got as far as you did and learned as much as you did. My faith in you both proved to be validated. I do apologize, however. Encouraging you, even from a distance, led you both to the infirmary. I vow to do a better job, both as guardian and teacher.”

“Thank you,” Draco finally smiled. Perhaps it was his Empathy, but he found it very easy to forgive those who could admit when they were wrong. “So, that was full blown Retreatment?”

“Yes. As it stands, while fully Retreated, your eyes are a much darker blue than that day in my office.”

“What would have happened if I Diverted to something like the Dark Lord? That’s nothing but pure, Dark, magical energy?”

Dumbledore’s face turned very grave, and Draco noticed Dumbledore’s own Occlumency shields blocking out Draco’s Empath. It wasn’t the first time Dumbledore had done that, and he knew it probably wouldn’t be the last. Dumbledore seemed to give his emotions freely, unlike Severus. When Dumbledore did this, Draco readily gave him his privacy. “I do not know. I can only guess, and my guess is that it would not have led to anything good. Something like… Voldy,” he nodded his head, “is some of the Darkest magic, and rarely seen. Most likely, Diverting to him, you could end up Harnessing yourself to him. I believe Cove’s reaction should tell you how well that would go.”

“Wait, that was that noise?” Harry asked. “That was your wand? That was Cove?”

Draco shrugged. “I barely remember.”

“It was like a high-pitch wail,” Harry explained. “It wasn’t very loud, and I was more distracted by making sure they got you out and me going on. But I heard it.”

“I believe Cove will also need some time to recover,” Dumbledore said. “It would seem most of its work to help bring you back happened when it had a magical source to draw from,” he nodded to their hands, Cove’s sheath poking out of his sleeve. Harry’s grip tightened from where it had gone slacked. “But you and Cove shall make a full recovery.”

“What about my new teacher?” Draco asked. “You said months ago you would try to find me someone to help with my Weaknesses.”

“Ah,” Dumbledore’s face broke out into a grin. “And so I have. I’ve been talking to some who I felt could help you the most. They hadn’t been very agreeable. However, after they had heard what you did here at the school, and what you sacrificed for it, one of them is more than willing to meet with you once a week next year and train you. They are very, very secretive, mind you. He will be doing this at great personal risk. They do not share their knowledge with anyone, especially humans. The others are agreeable to him helping under center terms and conditions, which we will go through when you return next year.”

“Especially humans?” Draco asked. “What is he? Who is he?”

“He is the centaur, Firenze.”

“Draco,” Harry smiled. “That’s the centaur who helped us in the forest!”

“And he’s willing to help me?” Draco asked.

“He is. You have grown quite popular with the centaurs. I believe they hope if they assist you now, you might be willing to return the favor in the future.”

“Do Empaths and centaurs have a history?” Draco asked, knowing some about centaurs and how unusual it would be for them to help him.

“They do, but not for many centuries. There are some books about their shared history in the Restriction Section in the library. I look forward to all the ways you’ll attempt to get granted access next year.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “You realize I could buy them from somewhere, don’t you?”

“You could… But where would be the fun in that, Draco?” Dumbledore asked, a twinkle in his eye.

“Fine,” Draco admitted. “One last question…”

“Only one?” Dumbledore smirked.

“Yes. Why do you refer to people by their surnames, but address people by the given names?”

Dumbledore chuckled. “I do that? I haven’t noticed.”

Sly git, Draco thought, laughing.

*~*~*~*

The next day, Draco stretched his legs out in front of him on the Hogwarts Express, happily sat between Harry and Michael, with a book in his hands, even if he barely read.

Harry was released from the Hospital Wing in time to join the feast. Even if Draco had the option of going, he would have refused. He was still very weak, and though he would have liked a chance to join in with the Leaving Feast, he rather liked the idea of having the energy to ride the train with his friends the next day.

Ravenclaw had won the House Cup, though narrowly. Ron was adamant that it was only because there were four Ravenclaws and only three Gryffindors that night in the dungeons. Draco and Harry were awarded the most points. They told him Dumbledore was vague in the reasoning behind the points, as he handed them out at the Leaving Feast in front of the whole school. Hermione and Anthony were awarded fifty points for showing tremendous courage and even more tremendous friendship. Terry was awarded fifty points for ‘steadfast’ selflessness and sacrifice. Ron and Michael were awarded fifty points for playing the best-played game of chess Hogwarts had seen in many years. Harry was awarded sixty points for pure nerve and outstanding courage. Finally, Draco was awarded sixty points for raw honesty, excellent use of practical skill, and for trusting, as well as being trustworthy.

There was also one Neville Longbottom who was awarded ten points for a ‘different kind of courage’ because he tried to stop Harry, Ron, and Hermione from leaving after curfew and losing Gryffindor more House points. Apparently, Hermione had hit him with the same _Immobulus_ Theo had used on Draco. She was turning out to be quite advanced herself.

Dumbledore had come back to the infirmary after the feast to have another discussion, one that was probably meant to be a part of the first one if Harry wasn’t there.

He briefed Draco that his parents were informed, as most parents of the children at the school were, that the person who attempted to steal the Stone was no one else but Professor Quirrell. He told Draco’s parents that Draco’s Empathy had told him that Professor Quirrell’s intention of the Stone was ‘unfavorable’and that he suspected particularly unfavorable to the Malfoy name, which was why he joined the others in their pursuit to stop Quirrell in Dumbledore’s absence.

This news did not go over well with either parent.

For Father, it fueled his hatred for Dumbledore. He now had three more straws against the Headmaster: that he allowed something as dangerous as the Stone to be hidden at Hogwarts when it looked likely to have been robbed, that he hired a professor that ended up attempting to rob said Stone, and for being so neglectful as to actually leave the school with said professor there with access to said Stone.

For Mother, Dumbledore said he thought she knew he was spinning the story to keep something hidden from Father. He said it appeared that just suspicion of that was enough for his mother to become furious with _his father_. Dumbledore reported ‘an excellent row’ in which Mother told Father he was as much to blame as Dumbledore, for how he pushed Draco, and that if he showed his son more acceptance, maybe Draco wouldn’t feel the need to go ‘prancing off after men who threaten the Malfoy name’, ‘put himself at unwarranted risks’, and ‘probably tried to go after the Stone himself with how _you_ try to raise him.’

It did serve to be a wonderful opening for Dumbledore, however. After Father left to go check on Draco’s unconscious body, Severus and Dumbledore sat Mother down to tell her some truths. They told her that Draco had been getting secret lessons from McGonagall and Dumbledore himself in the training of his Empathy. Then they explained the Weaknesses. It turned out, she already knew of them, having done exhaustive research once Draco became an Empath. Of course, she didn’t realize the effects suppressing had on Draco, and Draco had a feeling he was in for some very spoiling, guilt-ridden gifts and activities from his mother when he returned home.

They had told Father that Draco was unconscious due to a particularly nasty blow to his head, but when his mother learned the truth that he had Retreated instead, she demanded his training be continued over the summer. Severus agreed to come over once a week and work with Draco. Dumbledore even said she seemed extremely relieved when he told her Draco would also be trained specifically on his Weaknesses next year, even if the lessons did come from a centaur.

Draco didn’t know about Harry’s muggles, but the others’ parents were told the truth. Hermione reported that her parents were quite proud of her, but seemed to miss the… severity of the Dark Lord. Michael and Terry said their muggle parents were the same until they saw their wizardry parents’ reaction. Anthony detailed a colorful argument between his parents about transferring him to another school, until they talked to Dumbledore. Now, they were singing Hogwarts praises again.

Before he left, Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, Burbage of Muggle Studies, Sinistra from Astronomy, Madams Pomfrey and Hooch, Hagrid, and Ima Pince the librarian had all come to him individually to let him know that, during the summer, if he needed anything, _anything at all_ , he was always free to contact them.

Of course, some were more blunt than others. McGonagall had called his father ‘that foul of a man’, Professor Sinistra was just short of calling him only worthy as a sperm-donor, and Hagrid called him ‘ _Malfoy’_ in a way that sounded more profane than anything out of Terry’s mouth ever was.

Likewise, his friends all made sure he knew he could come to them at any time. Draco, quietly and privately, told Harry he’d be there for him as well.

Pansy was a force to be reckoned with. Madam Pomfrey, not knowing their friendship, refused to let Pansy see him while he was unconscious. Pansy used the distraction of the Leaving Feast to force her way in. She _demanded_ to know what had happened, but Draco only told her details where he and his Empathy was concerned. She and Theo didn’t know the actual Empathy part, of course, but Pansy was observant enough throughout their childhood to know Draco was ‘special’, and, to her, precious. She hugged him as though she was practicing to be a python, threatened his Gryffindors since they were obviously to blame for putting him in harm’s way, and vowed to be more involved with him next year to ‘keep him from making stupid, idiotic, moronic, _selfish_ decisions like sacrificing himself.’

Harry didn’t tell Ron or Hermione that Draco had been conscious that one day, and from what he could tell, he hadn’t told them anything he learned the next day either. Given, it wasn’t much. Knowing him, Harry probably left with more questions than answers, and Draco was a little proud of how few he asked that day. What gave him the most confidence that Harry hadn’t said anything was that, when Ron and Hermione attempted to (not so subtly) ask questions, they radiated frustration while he radiated calmness, as well as a bit of smugness.

His Retreat had actually seemed to have done him some good, which according to the many books he and his Ravenclaws read, that wasn’t unexpected. Just like Strengths could be turned Weaknesses, Weaknesses could be turned Strengths, as went the stability of balance. There would be times in his life when a Weakness was needed and could be very useful. Almost Diverting then immediately Submerging, Retreating turned out to _be_ needed and very useful. Draco felt refreshed, after he got over feeling so sore and weak. His Occlumency shields were renewed, his magical nerves soothed, and much of his general anxiety relaxed.

The train ride from Hogwarts was in good temper, if not without a bit somber. Catie stopped by their carriage at one point to keep her promise to say goodbye. She thanked them for winning them the House Cup on her last year by relaying what else she knew about Ravenclaw Tower, and the five Ravenclaws spent a good twenty to thirty minutes huddled in the back of the train with Catie’s privacy charms over them, the boys writing down and learning what they could. Terry announced they were to be the kings of Ravenclaw next year.

It took half the train ride to notice (Draco blamed Cove for protectively trying to filter things for him), but Draco eventually noticed there was a slight change in all his friends.

For Hermione, her usual child-like arrogance and pomposity was quieted some, and a new quality that could almost resemble patience was beginning to be born.

For Ron, his general vigilant suspicion was virtually cut in half (though that could just be because Ron _finally_ accepted Draco as just Draco), and what used to be nothing short of a set and closed off mind was now open.

For Terry and Michael, some of the boyhood about them had smoothed out, and Terry was a bit more broodish; where, Michael was a bit less.

For Anthony, he had a much more determined air about him, and what was a naturally quiet confidence seemed to be turning into conviction.

Finally, Harry… That boy he met in Madam Malkin’s with an undercurrent of excitement layered under thick blankets of nervousness and fear wasn’t there anymore. He was much more confident, much braver, held himself a bit straighter. However, there was a seriousness about him that he was much too young for.

Then again, look at Draco. When he looked in the mirror that morning, his eyes already looked older. Such bright silver with no innocence about them whatsoever. He had begun to look at his eyes as a blank canvas, ready to reflect whatever his Empathy was doing. In truth, he never gave much serious thought about his eyes. He hated the way some people made a big deal out of them, but for the most part, people politely hid their surprise and moved on with their life. He always had more important things to worry about, at any rate. He did find it interesting that Harry once compared his eyes to his lightning bolt scar, and now, Draco had to agree a little.

Unlike Harry, however, who would probably always hold some resentment and mixed feelings about his scar, Draco was growing to love his eyes. He was growing to be proud of them. He was beginning to think he _earned_ them.

Before they arrived at the station, everyone double checked they had whatever contact information they needed, and in the case of Michael, Terry, and Hermione, Draco made sure to say goodbye to them _on_ the train instead of the platform. In fact, he tried to do that with all of them, but Harry seemed a bit distracted, Anthony wasn’t hearing any of it because his parents wanting to meet him, and Ron seemed to be so busy checking where his many siblings were, that he probably wouldn’t have noticed if Draco did say goodbye.

Finally, they arrived. Draco gave Hermione, Terry, and Michael a final wave and allowed himself to be pulled away by Anthony, along with Ron and Harry.

“Mom, Dad!” He called. Anthony’s parents had given him such exact instructions to where they would be waiting, Draco had laughed at first. Now, he was mildly impressed.

“Tony!” a short man wearing a kippah greeted. Him and a woman with dark blonde hair artfully tied gave Anthony big hugs.

“Mom, Dad, this is Draco, Harry, and Ron.”

“Hello, Mrs. and Mr. Goldstein,” Draco said first. After all, he was groomed for polite impromptu meetings; Harry and Ron weren’t.

“Hello, hello,” Mr. Goldstein shook their hands. “Call me Abe, and this is Lizzy. It’s wonderful to meet you.”

“Are you quite alright?” Lizzy asked them. Then looked between Harry and Draco. “The last we saw you two, you were dead to the world. And that wasn’t even a week ago.”

“Magic’s amazing, isn’t it?” Draco smiled.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed shyly. “I’m fine. We’re, all, fine.”

“I’m so glad,” Lizzy smiled warmly. “I know you have families to get to, so don’t let us hold you. We just wanted to see for ourselves Tony’s friends were okay.”

“We’ll hunt down the others,” Abe said mischievously, pointedly flicking his nose with his index finger as if they were in on some classified information.

Draco, Harry, and Ron laughed good-naturedly, if not a little forced, and made their way back through the crowd.

“Hey, Draco,” Ron said. “What do you make of them?”

“What do you mean?”

“Y’know… with your,” he gestured to his body, “ _in-house radio_.”

Draco rolled his eyes at his friend’s attempt to be cunning in public, and said, “I have my shields up. My _radio_ didn’t pick up anything.”

“Shields?” Harry asked, interested, and Draco realized this mustn’t be the first time they heard that particular term.

“Occlumency shields. They keep everything out. Or, well, what I choose to keep out, now, after a year’s training. Otherwise, I run the risk of Submerging.”

Both Harry and Ron winced as if Draco just said Voldy’s name and let the subject drop.

They found the large group of Weasleys first. As they walked up, Ron mumbled to Draco, “Word to the wise, keep those shields up. If anyone can Submerge you, it’s the Weasleys.”

Draco laughed.

Sure enough, when spotted, the Weasleys swarmed around them. What could only be Mrs. Weasley engulfed the three of them in individual, all-consuming, tight hugs, both praying her thanks they were okay and reprimanding them for what a year they had. He was able to officially meet Fred and George, to whom he asked about the toilet seat and was answered he’d find out the next time he was in the infirmary. Ginny Weasley was a shy creature who chose to stand back and give an awkward wave. Percy Weasley was full of self-importance and seemed to have more misgivings about Draco than Ron did in the beginning.

Mr. Weasley, however, greeted him kindly and very artfully found a way to get Draco away from the others without even Draco noticing until it had happened.

“I’m Arthur Weasley,” he introduced himself.

Draco let down his shields just enough to gauge Arthur Weasley and his motives but found only concern and parental safeguarding. He smiled, taking Mr. Weasley’s hand. “I’m Draco Malfoy. I… I apologize for – “

“Please,” Mr. Weasley insisted, lifting up his other hand to cup Draco's between his. “Don’t worry about apologizing for your father. I know you’re very aware of our…”

“Antithesis?” Draco offered.

“That is kind of you,” Mr. Weasley grinned, good humor coming into the mix. It faded quickly though. “Draco, listen… I’ve pulled you aside to let you know two things. One, the wizard community, especially in Britain, is a small one. It’s been around the Ministry for a while now that you, to be blunt, returned to school from your holidays with bruises and looking like you hadn’t seen sun nor food in weeks.”

Draco couldn’t help his eyebrows shooting up. He gently took his hand back. “I won’t lie now, just as I didn’t lie then - my father did not treat me right. But, even though I am biased, I feel as though that particular description may be a bit… excited by gossip.”

Mr. Weasley nodded in understanding, nothing in his face or body language giving anything away, but his parental safeguarded-ness grew. “I will not now, nor ever, pry, Draco. I wanted to let you know the extent of what was being heard… And I also wanted to let you know I and my family are available if you shall ever need any help.”

Draco opened his mouth to protest, but Mr. Weasley held up a hand.

“I mean it, Draco, and not because your father and I have a history, not because of anything to do with the Ministry, but because we know you deserve help when needed. Any child does. You are a friend of my son. You also sided with the Light a week ago, but I suspect you did that a long time ago. My son tells me you are a good person, a great person at that. I… know bit more about a… certain side of Lucius than most. Molly, my wife, and I hope you are a good influence on him, and we know both your parents love you very much. We also know people can lose sight of… certain things, especially ambitious people, whom Lucius is. Just know… If ever you are need, simply send an owl to the Burrow. We will help in any manner that is best not just for you, but for your relationship with your father.”

Draco had to blink several times. No one had yet to offer _that_. Help him, sure, but to help his relationship with his father? Be a voice on his side to help his father see beyond whatever goggles he had on? Not that Father knew what goggles were, but still.

“I… I, yes, I mean, I… Thank you. Yes. Thank you.”

Mr. Weasley beamed at him and clapped his shoulder. “Let’s not draw attention to ourselves, shall we?”

Draco nodded, smiling, and even though they drew the attention of the Weasleys (they were awful at hiding it) their conversation did seem to go unnoticed by the crowd. He said goodbye to them, as well as Harry who gave him a hug, and they left towards the barrier that would lead them to the muggle world.

Draco turned and walked the other direction, as were his parents’ wishes on most things muggle. Dragging his trunk behind him, he weaved his wave through the crowd, Cove humming neutrally against his arm. He began to wonder how much the events surrounding the Stone changed Cove, considering how quiet it had been during, as he saw a stack of blonde hair and his mother’s smiling face.

He ran to her, and despite everything, it was good to be back in his mother’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know what you think!!
> 
> I am starting on Book Two, but I won't post until it's completed. Just a heads up.

**Author's Note:**

> [Wings Cannot Be Chained's Tumblr](https://wcbc.tumblr.com/)
> 
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> 
> I will be posting Book progress on Wings Cannot Be Chained's Tumblr, as well as edited music and pictures for this series. Feel free to follow, reach out, and join in if you want!


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